THE 
A.F. 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 


Cbition 


THE   AUTOCRAT   OF   THE 
BREAKFAST-TABLE 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE 
BREAKFAST-TABLE 


BY 


OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES 

it 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


THE 


Copyright,  1858,  1882,  and  1886, 
BY  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

Copyright,  1889, 
BY  HOUGIiTON,  MIFF  LIN   &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


fl-i 


//AW 


TO  THE  READERS  OF  THE  AUTOCRAT 
OF  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE. 


TWENTY-FIVE  years  more  have  passed 
since  the  silence  of  the  preceding  twenty- 
five  years  was  broken  by  the  first  words 
of  the  self-recording  personage  who  lends 
his  title  to  these  pages,  in  the  "  Atlantic 
Monthly  "  for  November,  1857.  The  chil 
dren  of  those  who  first  read  these  papers  as 
they  appeared  are  still  reading  them  as 
kindly  as  their  fathers  and  mothers  read 
them  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  And 
now,  for  the  first  time  for  many  years  I  have 
read  them  myself,  thinking  that  they  might 
be  improved  by  various  corrections  and 
changes. 

But  it  is  dangerous  to  tamper  in  cold 
blood  and  in  after-life  with  what  was  writ 
ten  in  the  glow  of  an  earlier  period.  Its 
very  defects  are  a  part  of  its  organic  indi 
viduality.  It  would  spoil  any  character 
these  records  may  have  to  attempt  to  adjust 


iv        TO  READERS  OF  THE  AUTOCRAT. 

them  to  the  present  age  of  the  world  or  of 
the  author.  We  have  all  of  us,  writer  and 
readers,  drifted  away  from  many  of  our  for 
mer  habits,  tastes,  and  perhaps  beliefs.  The 
world  could  spare  every  human  being  who 
was  living  when  the  first  sentence  of  these 
papers  was  written  ;  its  destinies  would  be 
safe  in  the  hands  of  the  men  and  women  of 
twenty-five  years  and  under. 

This  book  was  written  for  a  generation 
which  knew  nothing  or  next  to  nothing  of 
war,  and  hardly  dreamed  of  it ;  which  felt 
as  if  invention  must  have  exhausted  itself  in 
the  miracles  it  had  already  wrought.  To 
day,  in  a  small  sea-side  village  of  a  few  hun 
dred  inhabitants,  I  see  the  graveyard  flutter 
ing  with  little  flags  that  mark  the  soldiers' 
graves  ;  we  read,  by  the  light  the  rocks  of 
Pennsylvania  have  furnished  for  us,  all  that 
is  most  important  in  the  morning  papers  of 
the  civilized  world  ;  the  lightning,  so  swift 
to  run  our  errands,  stands  shining  over  us, 
white  and  steady  as  the  moonbeams,  burn 
ing,  but  unconsumed  ;  we  talk  with  people 
in  the  neighboring  cities  as  if  they  were  at 
our  elbow,  and  as  our  equipages  flash  along 
the  highway,  the  silent  bicycle  glides  by  us 
and  disappears  in  the  distance.  All  these 
since  1857,  and  how  much  more  than  these 


TO  READERS  OF  THE  AUTOCRAT.        v 

changes  in  our  every-day  conditions  !  1  can 
say  without  offence  to-day  that  which  called 
out  the  most  angry  feelings  and  the  hardest 
language  twenty-five  years  ago.  I  may 
doubt  everything  to-day  if  I  will  only  do  it 
civilly. 

I  cannot  make  over  again  the  book  and 
those  which  followed  it,  and  I  will  not  try 
to  mend  old  garments  with  new  cloth.  Let 
the  sensible  reader  take  it  for  granted  that 
the  author  would  agree  with  him  in  chang 
ing  whatever  he  would  alter,  in  leaving  out 
whatever  he  would  omit,  if  it  seemed  worth 
while  to  tamper  with  what  was  finished  long 
ago.  The  notes  which  have  been  added  will 
not  interrupt  the  current  of  the  conversa 
tional  narrative. 

I  can  never  be  too  grateful  for  the  tokens 
of  regard  which  these  papers  and  those 
which  followed  them  have  brought  me. 
The  kindness  of  my  far-off  friends  has 
sometimes  over-taxed  my  power  of  replying 
to  them,  but  they  may  be  assured  that  their 
pleasant  words  were  always  welcome,  how 
ever  insufficiently  acknowledged. 

I  have  experienced  the  friendship  of  my 
readers  so  long  that  I  cannot  help  anticipat 
ing  some  measure  of  its  continuance.  If 
I  should  feel  the.  burden  of  correspondence 


vi        TO  READERS  OF  THE  AUTOCRAT. 

too  heavily  in  the  coming  years,  I  desire  to 
record   in   advance   my   gratitude  to  those 
whom  I  may  not  be  able  to  thank  so  fully 
and  so  cordially  as  I  could  desire. 
BEVERLY  FARMS,  Mass.,  August  29,  1882. 


THE  AUTOCRAT'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


THE  interruption  referred  to  in  the  first 
sentence  of  the  first  of  these  papers  was  just 
a  quarter  of  a  century  in  duration. 

Two  articles  entitled  "  The  Autocrat  of 
the  Breakfast-Table  "  will  be  found  in  the 
"  New  England  Magazine,"  formerly  pub 
lished  in  Boston  by  J.  T.  and  E.  Bucking 
ham.  The  date  of  the  first  of  these  articles 
is  November,  1831,  and  that  of  the  second, 
February,  1832.  When  "  The  Atlantic 
Monthly  "*.  was  begun,  twenty-five  years 
afterwards,  and  the  author  was  asked  to 
write  for  it,  the  recollection  of  these  crude 
products  of  his  uncombed  literary  boyhood 
suggested  the  thought  that  it  would  be  a 
curious  experiment  to  shake  the  same  bough 
again,  and  see  if  the  ripe  fruit  were  better 
or  worse  than  the  early  windfalls. 

So  began  this  series  of  papers,  which 
naturally  brings  those  earlier  attempts  to 
my  own  notice  and  that  of  some  few  friends 
who  were  idle  enough  to  read  them  at  the 


THR  AUTOCRAT'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


4time  of- their  publication.  The  man  is 
father  to  the  boy  that  was,  and  I  am  my 
own  son,  as  it  seems  to  me,  in  those  papers 
of  the  "New  England  Magazine."  If  I 
find  it  hard  to  pardon  the  boy's  faults, 
others  would  find  it  harder.  They  will  not, 
therefore,  be  reprinted  here,  nor,  as  I  hope, 
anywhere. 

But  a  sentence  or  two  from  them  will  per 
haps  bear  reproducing,  and  with  these  I 
trust  the  gentle  reader,  if  that  kind  being 
still  breathes,  will  be  contented. 

—  "  It  is  a  capital  plan  to  carry  a  tablet  with 
you,  and,  when  you  find  yourself  felicitous,  take 
notes  of  your  own  conversation."  — 

—  "•  When  I  feel  inclined  to  read  poetry  I  take 
down  my  Dictionary.     The  poetry  of  words  is 
quite    as    beautiful  as  that   of    sentences.      The 
author  may  arrange    the    gems    effectively,  but 
their  shape  and  lustre  have  been  given  by  the  at 
trition  of  ages.     Bring  me  the  finest  simile  from 
the  whole  range   of  imaginative  writing,  and  I 
will  show  you  a  single  word  which  conveys   a 
more  profound,  a  more  accurate,  and  a  more  elo 
quent  analogy."  — 

—  "  Once  on  a  time,  a  notion  was  started,  that 
if  all  the  people  in  the  world  would  shout  at  once, 
it  might  be  heard  in  the  moon.    So  the  projectors 
agreed  it  should  be  clone  in  just  ten  years.    Some 
thousand    shiploads    of   chronometers   were   dis- 


THE  AUTOCRAT'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY,    ix 

tributed  to  the  selectmen  and  other  great  folks 
of  all  the  different  nations.  For  a  year  before 
hand,  nothing  else  was  talked  about  but  the  awful 
noise  that  was  to  be  made  on  the  great  occa 
sion.  When  the  time  came,  everybody  had  their 
ears  so  wide  open,  to  hear  the  universal  ejacula 
tion  of  Boo,  —  the  word  agreed  upon,  —  that  no 
body  spoke  except  a  deaf  man  in  one  of  the  f  ejee 
Islands,  and  a  woman  in  Pekin,  so  that  the  world 
was  never  so  still  since  the  creation."  — 

There  was  nothing  better  than  these 
things,  and  there  was  not  a  little  that  was 
much  worse.  A  young  fellow  of  two  or 
three  and  twenty  has  as  good  a  right  to  spoil 
a  magazine-full  of  essays  in  learning  how  to 
write,  as  an  oculist  like  Wenzel  had  to  spoil 
his  hat-full  of  eyes  in  learning  how  to  oper 
ate  for  cataract,  or  an  elegant  like  Brummel 
to  point  to  an  armful  of  failures  in  the  at 
tempt  to  achieve  a  perfect  neck-tie.  This 
son  of  mine,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  these 
twenty-five  years,  generously  counted,  was  a 
self-willed  youth,  always  too  ready  to  utter 
his  unchastised  fancies.  He,  like  too  many 
American  young  people,  got  the  spur  when 
lie  should  have  had  the  rein.  He  therefore 
helped  to  fill  the  market  with  that  unripe 
fruit  which  his  father  says  in  one  of  these 
papers  abounds  in  the  marts  of  his  native 


X      THE  AUTOCRAT'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

country.  All  these  by-gone  shortcomings 
he  would  hope  are  forgiven,  did  he  not  feel 
sure  that  very  few  of  his  readers  know  any- 
thing  about  them.  In  taking  the  old  name 
for  the  new  papers,  he  felt  bound  to  say  that 
he  had  uttered  unwise  things  under  that 
title,  and  if  it  shall  appear  that  his  unwisdom 
has  not  diminished  by  at  least  half  while 
his  years  have  doubled,  he  promises  not  to 
repeat  the  experiment  if  he  should  live  to 
double  them  again  and  become  his  own 
grandfather. 

OLIVER  WENDfiLL  HOLMES. 
BOSTON,  November  1,  1858. 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAK 
FAST-TABLE. 


I. 

I  WAS  just  going  to  say,  when  I  was  in 
terrupted,  that  one  of  the  many  ways  of 
classifying  minds  is  under  the  heads  of  arith 
metical  and  algebraical  intellects.  All  eco 
nomical  and  practical  wisdom  is  an  extension 
or  variation  of  the  following  arithmetical 
formula:  2  +  2  =  4.  Every  philosophical 
proposition  has  the  more  general  character 
of  the  expression  a  -\-  b  =  c.  We  are  mere 
operatives,  empirics,  and  egotists,  until  we 
learn  to  think  in  letters  instead  of  figures. 

They  all  stared.  There  is  a  divinity 
student  lately  come  among  us  to  whom  I 
commonly  address  remarks  like  the  above, 
allowing  him  to  take  a  certain  share  in  the 
conversation,  so  far  as  assent  or  pertinent 
questions  are  involved.  He  abused  his  lib 
erty  on  this  occasion  by  presuming  to  say 
that  Leibnitz  had  the  same  observation.  — 
No,  sir,  I  replied,  he  has  not.  But  he  said 


2  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

a  mighty  good  thing  about  mathematics, 
that  sounds  something  like  it,  and  you  found 
it,  not  in  the  original,  but  quoted  by  Dr. 
Thomas  Reid.  I  will  tell  the  company  what 
he  did  say,  one  of  these  days. 

—  If  I  belong  to  a  Society  of  Mutual  Ad 
miration  ?  —  I  blush  to  say  that  I  do  not  at 
this  present  moment.  I  once  did,  however. 
It  was  the  first  association  to  which  I  ever 
heard  the  term  applied  ;  a  body  of  scien 
tific  young  men  in  a  great  foreign  city l  who 

1  The  "  body  of  scientific  young1  men  in  a  great  foreign 
city"  was  the  Socie'te'  d' Observation  Medicale,  of  Paris, 
of  which  M.  Louis  was  president,  and  MM.  Barth,  Gri- 
sotte,  and  our  own  Dr.  Bowditch  were  members.  They 
agreed  in  admiring  their  justly-honored  president,  and 
thought  highly  of  some  of  their  associates,  who  have 
since  made  good  their  promise  of  distinction. 

About  the  time  when  these  papers  were  published,  the 
Saturday  Club  was  founded,  or,  rather,  found  itself  in 
existence,  without  any  organization,  almost  without  par 
entage.  It  was  natural  enough  that  such  men  as  Emer 
son,  Longfellow,  Agassiz,  Peirce,  with  Hawthorne,  Mot 
ley,  Sumner,  when  within  reach,  and  others  who  would 
be  good  company  for  them,  should  meet  and  dine  together 
once  in  a  while,  as  they  did,  in  point  of  fact,  every 
month,  and  as  some  who  are  still  living,  with  other  and 
newer  members,  still  meet  and  dine.  If  some  of  them  had 
not  admired  each  other  they  would  have  been  exceptions 
in  the  world  of  letters  and  science-  The  club  deserves 
being  remembered  for  having  no  constitution  or  by-laws, 
for  making  no  speeches,  reading  no  papers,  observing 
no  ceremonies,  coming  and  going  at  will  without  remark, 
and  acting  out,  though  it  did  not  proclaim  the  motto, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE,  3 

admired  their  teacher,  and  to  some  extent 
each  other.  Many  of  them  deserved  it ; 
they  have  become  famous  since.  It  amuses 
me  to  hear  the  talk  of  one  of  those  beings 
described  by  Thackeray  — 

"Letters  four  do  form  his  name "  — 

about  a  social  development  which  belongs  to 
the  very  noblest  stage  of  civilization.  All 
generous  companies  of  artists,  authors,  phi 
lanthropists,  men  of  science,  are,  or  ought 
to  be,  Societies  of  Mutual  Admiration.  A 
man  of  genius,  or  any  kind  of  superiority, 
is  not  debarred  from  admiring  the  same 
quality  in  another,  nor  the  other  from  re 
turning  his  admiration.  They  may  even  as 
sociate  together  and  continue  to  think  highly 
of  each  other.  And  so  of  a  dozen  such  men, 
if  any  one  place  is  fortunate  enough  to  hold 
so  many.  The  being  referred  to  above  as 
sumes  several  false  premises.  First,  that 
men  of  talent  necessarily  hate  each  other. 
Secondly,  that  intimate  knowledge  or  habit 
ual  association  destroys  our  admiration  of 
persons  whom  we  esteemed  highly  at  a  dis 
tance.  Thirdly,  that  a  circle  of  clever  fel- 

"  Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn  ?  "  There  was 
and  is  nothing-  of  the  Bohemian  element  about  this  club, 
but  it  has  had  many  good  times  and  not  a  little  good 
talking. 


4  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

lows,  who  meet  together  to  dine  and  have  a 
good  time,  have  signed  a  constitutional  com 
pact  to  glorify  themselves  and  to  put  down 
him  and  the  fraction  of  the  human  race  not 
belonging  to  their  number.  Fourthly,  that 
it  is  an  outrage  that  he  is  not  asked  to  join 
them. 

Here  the  company  laughed  a  good  deal, 
and  the  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite 
said  :  "  That 's  it !  that 's  it !  " 

I  continued,  for  I  was  in  the  talking  vein. 
As  to  clever  people's  hating  each  other,  I 
think  a  little  extra  talent  does  sometimes 
make  people  jealous.  They  become  irritated 
by  perpetual  attempts  and  failures,  and  it 
hurts  their  tempers  and  dispositions.  Un 
pretending  mediocrity  is  good,  and  genius  is 
glorious  ;  but  a  weak  flavor  of  genius  in  an 
essentially  common  person  is  detestable.  It 
spoils  the  grand  neutrality  of  a  common 
place  character,  as  the  rinsings  of  an  un 
washed  wine-glass  spoil  a  draught  of  fair 
water.  No  wonder  the  poor  fellow  we  spoke 
of,  who  always  belongs  to  this  class  of 
slightly  flavored  mediocrities,  is  puzzled  and 
vexed  by  the  strange  sight  of  a  dozen  men 
of  capacity  working  and  playing  together  in 
harmony.  He  and  his  fellows  are  always 
fighting.  With  them  familiarity  naturally 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  5 

breeds  contempt.  If  they  ever  praise  each 
other's  bad  drawings,  or  broken-winded  nov 
els,  or  spavined  verses,  nobody  ever  supposed 
it  was  from  admiration  ;  it  was  simply  a 
contract  between  themselves  and  a  publisher 
or  dealer. 

If  the  Mutuals  have  really  nothing  among 
them  worth  admiring,  that  alters  the  ques 
tion.  But  if  they  are  men  with  noble  pow 
ers  and  qualities,  let  me  tell  you  that,  next 
to  youthful  love  and  family  affections,  there 
is  no  human  sentiment  better  than  that  which 
unites  the  Societies  of  Mutual  Admiration. 
And  what  would  literature  or  art  be  with 
out  such  associations  ?  Who  can  tell  what 
we  owe  to  the  Mutual  Admiration  Society 
of  which  Shakespeare,  and  Ben  Jonson,  and 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  were  members  ?  Or 
to  that  of  which  Addison  and  Steele  formed 
the  centre,  and  which  gave  us  the  Spectator  ? 
Or  to  that  where  Johnson,  and  Goldsmith, 
and  Burke,  and  Reynolds,  and  Beauclerk, 
and  Boswell,  most  admiring  among  all  ad 
mirers,  met  together?  Was  there  any  great 
harm  in  the  fact  that  the  Irvings  and  Pauld- 
ing  wrote  in  company  ?  or  any  unpardonable 
cabal  in  the  literary  union  of  Verplanck  and 
Bryant  and  Sands,  and  as  many  more  as  they 
chose  to  associate  with  them  ? 


6  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

The  poor  creature  does  not  know  what  he 
is  talking  about  when  he  abuses  this  noblest 
of  institutions.  Let  him  inspect  its  mys 
teries  through  the  knot-hole  he  has  secured, 
but  not  use  that  orifice  as  a  medium  for  his 
popgun.  Such  a  society  is  the  crown  of  a 
literary  metropolis  ;  if  a  town  has  not  mate 
rial  for  it,  and  spirit  and  good  feeling  enough 
to  organize  it,  it  is  a  mere  caravansary,  fit 
for  a  man  of  genius  to  lodge  in,  but  not  to 
live  in.  Foolish  people  hate  and  dread  and 
envy  such  an  association  of  men  of  varied 
powers  and  influence,  because  it  is  lofty, 
serene,  impregnable,  and,  by  the  necessity  of 
the  case,  exclusive.  Wise  ones  are  prouder 
of  the  title  M.  S.  M.  A.  than  of  all  their 
other  honors  put  together. 

—  All  generous  minds  have  a  horror  of 
what  are  commonly  called  "  facts."  They 
are  the  brute  beasts  of  the  intellectual  do 
main.  Who  does  not  know  fellows  that 
always  have  an  ill-conditioned  fact  or  two 
which  they  lead  after  them  into  decent  com 
pany  like  so  many  bull-dogs,  ready  to  let 
them  slip  at  every  ingenious  suggestion,  or 
convenient  generalization,  or  pleasant  fancy  ? 
I  allow  no  "  facts  "  at  this  table.  What ! 
Because  bread  is  good  and  wholesome,  and 
necessary  and  nourishing,  shall  you  thrust  a 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  1 

crumb  into  my  windpipe  while  I  am  talking  ? 
Do  not  these  muscles  of  mine  represent  a 
hundred  loaves  of  bread?  and  is  not  my 
thought  the  abstract  of  ten  thousand  of  these 
crumbs  of  truth  with  which  you  would  choke 
off  my  speech? 

[The  above  remark  must  be  conditioned 
and  qualified  for  the  vulgar  mind.  The 
reader  will  of  course  understand  the  precise 
amount  of  seasoning  which  must  be  added 
to  it  before  he  adopts  it  as  one  of  the  axioms 
of  his  life.  The  speaker  disclaims  all  respon 
sibility  for  its  abuse  in  incompetent  hands.] 

This  business  of  conversation  is  a  very 
serious  matter.  There  are  men  whom  it 
weakens  one  to  talk  with  an  hour  more  than 
a  day's  fasting  would  do.  Mark  this  which 
I  am  going  to  say,  for  it  is  as  good  as  a 
working  professional  man's  advice,  and  costs 
you  nothing :  It  is  better  to  lose  a  pint  of 
blood  from  your  veins  than  to  have  a  nerve 
tapped.  Nobody  measures  your  nervous 
force  as  it  runs  away,  nor  bandages  your 
brain  and  marrow  after  the  operation. 

There  are  men  of  esprit  who  are  exces 
sively  exhausting  to  some  people.  They  are 
the  talkers  who  have  what  may  be  called 
jerky  minds.  Their  thoughts  do  not  run  in 
the  natural  order  of  sequence.  They  say 


8  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

bright  things  on  all  possible  subjects,  but 
their  zig-zags  rack  you  to  death.  After  a 
jolting  half -hour  with  one  of  these  jerky 
companions,  talking  with  a  dull  friend  af 
fords  great  relief.  It  is  like  taking  the  cat 
in  your  lap  after  holding  a  squirrel. 

What  a  comfort  a  dull  but  kindly  person 
is,  to  be  sure,  at  times !  A  ground-glass 
shade  over  a  gas-lamp  does  not  bring  more 
solace  to  our  dazzled  eyes  than  such  a  one  to 
our  minds. 

"  Do  not  dull  people  bore  you  ? 5'  said  one 
of  the  lady-boarders,  —  the  same  who  sent 
me  her  autograph-book  last  week  with  a  re 
quest  for  a  few  original  stanzas,  not  remem 
bering  that  "  The  Pactolian  "  pays  me  five 
dollars  a  line  for  every  thing  I  write  in  its 
columns. 

"  Madam,"  said  I  (she  and  the  century 
were  in  their  teens  together),  "all  men  are 
bores,  except  when  we  Want  them.  There 
never  was  but  one  man  whom  I  would  trust 
with  my  latch-key." 

"  Who  might  that  favored  person  be?  " 

"  Zimmermann."  1 

1  The  Treatise  on  Solitude  is  not  so  frequently  seen  ly 
ing  about  on  library  tables  as  in  our  younger  days.  I 
remember  that  I  always  respected  the  title  and  let  the 
book  alone. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  9 

—  The  men  of  genius  that  I  fancy  most 
have  erectile  heads  like  the  cobra-di-capello. 
You  remember  what  they  tell  of  William 
Pinkney,  the  great  pleader;  how  in  his  elo 
quent  paroxysms  the  veins  of  his  neck  would 
swell  and  his  face  flush  and  his  eyes  glitter, 
until  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  apoplexy. 
The  hydraulic  arrangements  for  supplying 
the  brain  with  blood  are  only  second  in  im 
portance  to  its  own  organization.  The  bul 
bous-headed  fellows  who  steam  well  when 
they  are  at  work  are  the  men  that  draw  big 
audiences  and  give  us  marrowy  books  and 
pictures.  It  is  a  good  sign  to  have  one's 
feet  grow  cold  when  he  is  writing.  A  great 
writer  and  speaker  once  told  me  that  he  often 
wrote  with  his  feet  in  hot  water ;  but  for 
this,  all  his  blood  would  have  run  into  his 
head,  as  the  mercury  sometimes  withdraws 
into  the  ball  of  a  thermometer. 
4  —  You  don't  suppose  that  my  remarks 
made  at  this  table  are  like  so  many  postage- 
stamps,  do  you,  —  each  to  be  only  once  ut 
tered?  If  you  do,  you  are  mistaken.  He 
must  be  a  poor  creature  who  does  not  often 
repeat  himself.  Imagine  the  author  of  the 
excellent  piece  of  advice,  u  Know  thyself," 
never  alluding  to  that  sentiment  again  during 
the  course  of  a  protracted  existence  !  Why, 


10  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

the  truths  a  man  carries  about  with  him  are 
his  tools ;  and  do  you  think  a  carpenter  is 
bound  to  use  the  same  plane  but  once  to 
smooth  a  knotty  board  with,  or  to  hang  up  his 
hammer  after  it  has  driven  its  first  nail  ?  I 
shall  never  repeat  a  conversation,  but  an  idea 
often.  I  shall  use  the  same  types  when  I 
like,  but  not  commonly  the  same  stereotypes. 
A  thought  is  often  original,  though  you  have 
uttered  it  a  hundred  times.  It  has  come  to 
you  over  a  new  route,  by  a  new  and  express 
train  of  associations. 

Sometimes,  but  rarely,  one  may  be  caught 
making  the  same  speech  twice  over,  and  yet 
be  held  blameless.  Thus,  a  certain  lecturer, 
after  performing  in  an  inland  city,  where 
dwells  a  Litteratrice  of  note,  was  invited  to 
meet  her  and  others  over  the  social  teacup. 
She  pleasantly  referred  to  his  many  wander 
ings  in  his  new  occupation.  "  Yes,"  he  re 
plied,  "  I  am  like  the  Huma,1  the  bird  that 
never  lights,  being  always  in  the  cars,  as  he 
is  always  on  the  wing."  —  Years  elapsed. 
The  lecturer  visited  the  same  place  once 

1  It  was  an  agreeable  incident  of  two  consecutive  visits 
to  Hartford,  Conn.,  that  I  met  there  the  late  Mrs.  Sig- 
ourney.  The  second  meeting  recalled  the  first,  and  with 
it  the  allusion  to  the  Huma,  which  bird  is  the  subject  of 
a  short  poem  by  another  New  England  authoress,  which 
may  be  found  in  Mr.  Griswold's  collection. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  11 

more  for  the  same  purpose.  Another  social 
cup  after  the  lecture,  and  a  second  meet 
ing  with  the  distinguished  lady.  "  You  are 
constantly  going  from  place  to  place,"  she 
said.  —  "  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  like 
the  Huma,"  —  and  finished  the  sentence  as 
before. 

What  horrors,  when  it  flashed  over  him 
that  he  had  made  this  fine  speech,  word  for 
word,  twice  over  !  Yet  it  was  not  true,  as 
the  lady  might  perhaps  have  fairly  inferred, 
that  he  had  embellished  his  conversation 
with  the  Huma  daily  during  that  whole  in 
terval  of  years.  On  the  contrary,  he  had 
never  once  thought  of  the  odious  fowl  until 
the  recurrence  of  precisely  the  same  circum 
stances  brought  up  precisely  the  same  idea. 
Pie  ought  to  have  been  proud  of  the  accuracy 
of  his  mental  adjustments.  Given  certain 
factors,  and  a  sound  brain  should  always 
evolve  the  same  fixed  product  with  the  cer 
tainty  of  Babbage's  calculating  machine. 

—  What  a  satire,  by  the  way,  is  that  ma 
chine  on  the  mere  mathematician  !  A  Frank 
enstein-monster,  a  thing  without  brains  and 
without  heart,  too  stupid  to  make  a  blunder  ; 
which  turns  out  results  like  a  corn-sheller, 
and  never  grows  any  wiser  or  better,  though 
it  grind  a  thousand  bushels  of  them ! 


12  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

I  have  an  immense  respect  for  a  man  of 
talents  plus  "  the  mathematics."  But  the 
calculating  power  alone  should  seem  to  be 
the  least  human  of  qualities,  and  to  have 
the  smallest  amount  of  reason  in  it ;  since  a 
machine  can  be  made  to  do  the  work  of  three 
or  four  calculators,  and  better  than  any  one 
of  them.  Sometimes  I  have  been  troubled 
that  I  had  not  a  deeper  intuitive  apprehen 
sion  of  the  relations  of  numbers.  But  the 
triumph  of  the  ciphering  hand-organ  has 
consoled  me.  I  always  fancy  I  can  hear  the 
wheels  clicking  in  a  calculator's  brain.  The 

O 

power  of  dealing  with  numbers  is  a  kind  of 
"  detached  lever  "  arrangement,  which  may 
be  put  into  a  mighty  poor  watch.  I  suppose 
it  is  about  as  common  as  the  power  of  mov 
ing  the  ears  voluntarily,  which  is  a  moder 
ately  rare  endowment. 

— 'Little  localized  powers,  and  little  nar 
row  streaks  of  specialized  knowledge,  are 
things  men  are  very  apt  to  be  conceited 
about.  Nature  is  very  wise ;  but  for  this 
encouraging  principle  how  many  small  tal 
ents  and  little  accomplishments  would  be 
neglected !  Talk  about  conceit  as  much  as 
you  like,  it  is  to  human  character  what  salt 
is  to  the  ocean ;  it  keeps  it  sweet,  and  ren 
ders  it  endurable.  Say  rather  it  is  like  the 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE  13 

natural  unguent  of  the  sea-fowl's  plumage, 
which  enables  him  to  shed  the  rain  that  falls 
on  him  and  the  wave  in  which  he  dips. 
When  one  has  had  all  his  conceit  taken  out 
of  him,  when  he  has  lost  all  his  illusions, 
his  feathers  will  soon  soak  through,  and  he 
will  fly  no  more. 

"  So  you  admire  conceited  people,  do 
you  ?  "  said  the  young  lady  who  has  come  to 
the  city  to  be  finished  off  for  —  the  duties 
of  life. 

I  am  afraid  you  do  not  study  logic  at  your 
school,  my  dear.  It  does  not  follow  that  I 
wish  to  be  pickled  in  brine  because  I  like  a 
salt-water  plunge  at  Nahant.  I  say  that  con 
ceit  is  just  as  natural  a  thing  to  human  minds 
as  a  centre  is  to  a  circle.  But  little-minded 
people's  thoughts  move  in  such  small  circles 
that  five  minutes'  conversation  gives  you  an 
arc  long  enough  to  determine  their  whole 
curve.  An  arc  in  the  movement  of  a  large 
intellect  does  not  sensibly  differ  from  a 
straight  line.  Even  if  it  have  the  third 
vowel  as  its  centre,  it  does  not  soon  betray 
it.  The  highest  thought,  that  is,  is  the  most 
seemingly  impersonal ;  it  does  not  obviously 
imply  any  individual  centre. 

Audacious  self-esteem,  with  good  ground 
for  it,  is  always  imposing.  What  resplen- 


14  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

dent  beauty  that  must  have  been  which  could 
have  authorized  Phryne  to  "  peel  "  in  the  way 
she  did !  What  fine  speeches  are  those  two  : 
"  Non  omnis  moriar"  and  "  I  have  taken 
all  knowledge  to  be  my  province  "  !  Even 
in  common  people,  conceit  has  the  virtue  of 
making  them  cheerful ;  the  man  who  thinks 
his  wife,  his  baby,  his  house,  his  horse,  his 
dog,  and  himself  severally  unequalled,  is 
almost  sure  to  be  a  good-humored  person, 
though  liable  to  be  tedious  at  times. 

—  What  are  the  great  faults  of  conversa 
tion  ?  Want  of  ideas,  want  of  words,  want 
of  manners,  are  the  principal  ones,  I  sup 
pose  you  think.  I  don't  doubt  it,  but  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  have  found  spoil  more  good 
talks  than  anything  else  ;  —  long  arguments 
on  special  points  between  people  who  differ 
on  the  fundamental  principles  upon  which 
these  points  depend.  No  men  can  have  sat 
isfactory  relations  with  each  other  until  they 
have  agreed  on  certain  ultimata  of  belief 
not  to  be  disturbed  in  ordinary  conversation, 
and  unless  they  have  sense  enough  to  trace 
the  secondary  questions  depending  upon 
these  ultimate  beliefs  to  their  source.  In 
short,  just  as  a  written  constitution  is  essen 
tial  to  the .  best  social  order,  so  a  code  of 
finalities  is  a  necessary  condition  of  profit- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  16 

able  talk  between  two  persons.  Talking  is 
like  playing  on  the  harp ;  there  is  as  much 
in  laying  the  hand  on  the  strings  to  stop 
their  vibrations  as  in  twanging  them  to  bring 
out  their  music. 

-  Do  you  mean  to  say  the  pun-question 
is  not  clearly  settled  in  your  minds  ?  Let 
me  lay  down  the  law  upon  the  subject.  Life 
and  language  are  alike  sacred.  Homicide 
and  verbicide  —  that  is,  violent  treatment  of 
a  word  with  fatal  results  to  its  legitimate 
meaning,  which  is  its  life  —  are  alike  for 
bidden.  Manslaughter,  which  is  the  mean 
ing  of  the  one,  is  the  same  as  man's  laughter, 
which  is  the  end  of  the  other.  A  pun  is 
prima  facie  an  insult  to  the  person  you  are 
talking  with.  It  implies  utter  indifference 
to  or  sublime  contempt  for  his  remarks,  no 
matter  how  serious.  I  speak  of  total  de 
pravity,  and  one  says  all  that  is  written  on 
the  subject  is  deep  raving.  I  have  com 
mitted  my  self-respect  by  talking  with  such 
a  person.  I  should  like  to  commit  him,  but 
cannot,  because  he  is  a  nuisance.  Or  I  speak 
of  geological  convulsions,  and  he  asks  me 
what  was  the  cosine  of  Noah's  ark;  also, 
whether  the  Deluge  was  not  a  deal  huger 
than  any  modern  inundation. 

A  pun  does  not  commonly  justify  a  blow 


16  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

in  return.  But  if  a  blow  were  given  for 
sucli  cause,  and  death  ensued,  the  jury  would 
be  judges  both  of  the  facts  and  of  the  pun, 
and  might,  if  the  latter  were  of  an  aggra 
vated  character,  return  a  verdict  of  justifia 
ble  homicide.  Thus,  in  a  case  lately  decided 
before  Miller,  J.,  Doe  presented  Roe  a  sub 
scription  paper,  and  urged  the  claims  of  suf 
fering  humanity.  Roe  replied  by  asking, 
When  charity  was  like  a  top  ?  It  was  in 
evidence  that  Doe  preserved  a  dignified  si 
lence.  Roe  then  said,  "  When  it  begins  to 
hum."  Doe  then  —  and  not  till  then  — 
struck  Roe,  and  his  head  happening  to  hit  a 
bound  volume  of  the  Monthly  Rag-Bag  and 
Stolen  Miscellany,  intense  mortification  en 
sued,  with  a  fatal  result.  The  chief  laid 
down  his  notions  of  the  law  to  his  brother 
justices,  who  unanimously  replied,  "  Jest  so." 
The  chief  rejoined,  that  no  man  should  jest 
so  without  being  punished  for  it,  and  charged 
for  the  prisoner,  who  was  acquitted,  and  the 
pun  ordered  to  be  burned  by  the  sheriff. 
The  bound  volume  was  forfeited  as  a  deo- 
dand,  but  not  claimed. 

People  that  make  puns  are  like  wanton 
boys  that  put  coppers  on  the  railroad  tracks, 
They  amuse  themselves  and  other  children, 
but  their  little  trick  may  upset  a  freight 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  17 

train  of  conversation  for  the  sake  of  a  bat 
tered  witticism. 

I  wilL  thank  you,  B.  F.,  to  bring  down 
two  books,  of  which  I  will  mark  the  places 
on  this  slip  of  paper.  (While  he  is  gone,  I 
may  say  that  this  boy,  our  landlady's  young 
est,  is  called  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN,  after  the 
celebrated  philosopher  of  that  name.  A 
highly  merited  compliment.) 

I  wished  to  refer  to  two  eminent  author 
ities.  Now  be  so  good  as  to  listen.  The 
great  moralist  says  :  "  To  trifle  with  the  vo 
cabulary  which  is  the  vehicle  of  social  inter 
course  is  to  tamper  with  the  currency  of 
human  intelligence.  He  who  would  violate 
the  sanctities  of  his  mother  tongue  would  in 
vade  the  recesses  of  the  paternal  till  without 
remorse,  and  repeat  the  banquet  of  Saturn 
without  an  indigestion." 

And,  once  more,  listen  to  the  historian. 
"  The  Puritans  hated  puns.  The  Bishops 
were  notoriously  addicted  to  them.  The 
Lords  Temporal  carried  them  to  the  verge 
of  license.  Majesty  itself  must  have  its 
Royal  quibble.  '  Ye  be  burly,  my  Lord  of 
Burleigh,'  said  Queen  Elizabeth,  'but  ye 
shall  make  less  stir  in  our  realm  than  my 
Lord  of  Leicester.'  The  gravest  wisdom 
and  the  highest  breeding  lent  their  sanction 


18  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

to  the  practice.  Lord  Bacon  playfully  de 
clared  himself  a  descendant  of  'Og,  the  King 
of  Bashan.  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  with  his  last 
breath,  reproached  the  soldier  who  brought 
him  water,  for  wasting  a  casque  full  upon  a 
dying  man.  A  courtier,  who  saw  Othello 
performed  at  the  Globe  Theatre,  remarked, 
that  the  blackamoor  was  a  brute,  and  not  a 
man.  '  Thou  hast  reason,'  replied  a  great 
Lord,  '  according  to  Plato  his  saying ;  for 
this  be  a  two-legged  animal  with  feathers.' 
The  fatal  habit  became  universal.  The  lan 
guage  was  corrupted.  The  infection  spread 
to  the  national  conscience.  Political  double- 
dealings  naturally  grew  out  of  verbal  double 
meanings.  The  teeth  of  the  new  dragon 
were  sown  by  the  Cadmus  who  introduced 
the  alphabet  of  equivocation.  What  was 
levity  in  the  time  of  the  Tudors  grew  to 
regicide  and  revolution  in  the  age  of  the 
Stuarts." 

Who  was  that  boarder  that  just  whis 
pered  something  about  the  Macaulay-flowers 
of  literature  ?  —  There  was  a  dead  silence. 
—  I  said  calmly,  I  shall  henceforth  consider 
any  interruption  by  a  pun  as  a  hint  to 
change  my  boarding-house.  Do  not  plead 
my  example.  If  I  have  used  any  such,  it 
has  been  only  as  a  Spartan  father  would 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  19 

show  up  a  drunken  helot.     We  have  done 
with  them. 

—  If  a  logical  mind  ever  found  out  any 
thing  with  its  logic  ?  —  I  should  say  that  its 
most  frequent  work  was  to  build  a  pons  asi- 
norum  over  chasms  which  shrewd  people  can 
bestride  without  such  a  structure.  You  can 
hire  logic,  in  the  shape  of  a  lawyer,  to  prove 
anything  that  you  want  to  prove.  You  can 
buy  treatises  to  show  that  Napoleon  never 
lived,  and  that  110  battle  of  Bunker-hill  was 
ever  fought.  The  great  minds  are  those 
with  a  wide  span,1  which  couple  truths  re 
lated  to,  but  far  removed  from,  each  other. 
Logicians  carry  the  surveyor's  chain  over 
the  track  of  which  these  are  the  true  ex 
plorers.  I  value  a  man  mainly  for  his  pri 
mary  relations  with  truth,  as  I  understand 
truth,  —  not  for  any  secondary  artifice  in 
handling  his  ideas.  Some  of  the  sharpest 
men  in  argument  are  notoriously  unsound  in 
judgment.  I  should  not  trust  the  counsel 
of  a  clever  debater,  any  more  than  that  of 
a  good  chess-player.  Either  may  of  course 
advise  wisely,  but  not  necessarily  because  he 
wrangles  or  plays  well. 

1  There  is  something  like  this  in  J.  H.  Newman's 
Grammar  of  Assent.  See  Character  'st'cs,  arranged  b:y 
W.  S.  Lilly,  p.  81. 


20  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

The  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite  got 
his  hand  up,  as  a  pointer  lifts  his  forefoot, 
at  the  expression,  "  his  relations  with  truth, 
as  I  understand  truth,"  and  when  I  had 
done,  sniffed  audibly,  and  said  I  talked  like 
a  transcendentalist.  For  his  part,  common 
sense  was  good  enough  for  him. 

Precisely  so,  my  dear  sir,  I  replied  ;  com 
mon  sense,  as  you  understand  it.  We  all 
have  to  assume  a  standard  of  judgment  in 
our  own  minds,  either  of  things  or  persons. 
A  man  who  is  willing  to  take  another's 
opinion  has  to  exercise  his  judgment  in  the 
choice  of  whom  to  follow,  which  is  often  as 
nice  a  matter  as  to  judge  of  things  for  one's 
self.  On  the  whole,  I  had  rather  judge 
men's  minds  by  comparing  their  thoughts 
with  my  own,  than  judge  of  thoughts  by 
knowing  who  utter  them.  I  must  do  one 
or  the  other.  It  does  not  follow,  of  course, 
that  I  may  not  recognize  another  man's 
thoughts  as  broader  and  deeper  than  my 
own  ;  but  that  does  not  necessarily  change 
my  opinion,  otherwise  this  would  be  at  the 
mercy  of  every  superior  mind  that  held  a 
different  one.  How  many  of  our  most  cher 
ished  beliefs  are  like  those  drinking-glasses 
of  the  ancient  pattern,  that  serve  us  well  so 
long  as  we  keep  them  in  our  hand,  but  spill 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  21 

all  if  we  attempt  to  set  them  down  !  I  have 
sometimes  compared  conversation  to  the  Ital 
ian  game  of  mora,  in  which  one  player  lifts 
his  hand  with  so  many  ringers  extended,  and 
the  other  gives  the  number  if  he  can.  I 
show  my  thought,  another  his  ;  if  they  agree, 
well ;  if  they  differ,  we  find  the  largest  com 
mon  factor,  if  we  can,  but  at  any  rate  avoid 
disputing  about  remainders  and  fractions, 
which  is  to  real  talk  what  tuning  an  instru 
ment  is  to  playing  on  it. 

—  What  if,  instead  of  talking  this  morn 
ing,  I  should  read  you  a  copy  of  verses,  with 
critical  remarks  by  the  author  ?  Any  of  the 
company  can  retire  that  like. 

ALBUM  VERSES. 

When  Eve  had  led  her  lord  away, 
And  Cain  had  killed  his  brother, 

The  stars  and  flowers,  the  poets  say, 
Agreed  with  one  another 

To  cheat  the  cunning-  tempter's  art, 

And  teach  the  race  its  duty, 
By  keeping-  on  its  wicked  heart 

Their  eyes  of  light  and  beauty. 

A  million  sleepless  lids,  they  say, 

Will  be  at  least  a  warning- ; 
And  so  the  flowers  would  watch  by  day 

The  stars  from  eve  to  morning-. 


22  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

On  hill  and  prairie,  field  and  lawn, 

Their  dewy  eyes  upturning1, 
The  flowers  still  watch  from  reddening  dawn 

Till  western  skies  are  burning1. 

Alas !  each  hour  of  daylight  tells 

A  tale  of  shame  so  crushing, 
That  some  turn  white  as  sea-bleached  shells, 

And  some  are  always  blushing. 

But  when  the  patient  stars  look  down 

On  all  their  light  discovers, 
The  traitor's  smile,  the  murderer's  frown, 

The  lips  of  lying  lovers, 

They  try  to  shut  their  saddening  eyes, 

And  in  the  vain  endeavor 
We  see  them  twinkling  in  the  skies, 

And  so  they  wink  forever. 


What  do  you  think  of  these  verses,  my 
friends  ?  —  Is  that  piece  an  impromptu  ? 
said  my  landlady's  daughter.  (^Et.  19+. 
Tender-eyed  blonde.  Long  ringlets.  Cameo 
pin.  Gold  pencil-case  on  a  chain.  Locket. 
Bracelet.  Album.  Autograph  book.  Ac- 
cordeon.  Reads  Byron,  Tupper,  and  Syl- 
vanus  Cobb,  Junior,  while  her  mother  makes 
the  puddings.  Says  "  Yes  ?  "  when  you  tell 
her  anything.)  —  Oul  et  non,  ma  petite,  — 
Yes  and  no,  my  child.  Five  of  the  seven 
verses  were  written  off-hand  ;  the  other  two 
took  a  week,  —  that  is,  were  hanging  round 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  23 

the  desk  in  a  ragged,  forlorn,  unrhymed 
condition  as  long  as  that.  All  poets  will  tell 
you  just  such  stories.  C'est  le  DERNIER 
pas  qui  coute.  Don't  you  know  how  hard 
it  is  for  some  people  to  get  out  of  a  room 
after  their  visit  is  really  over  ?  They  want 
to  be  off,  and  you  want  to  have  them  off, 
but  they  don't  know  how  to  manage  it.  One 
would  think  they  had  been  built  in  your 
parlor  or  study,  and  were  waiting  to  be 
launched.  I  have  contrived  a  sort  of  cere 
monial  inclined  plane  for  such  visitors,  which 
being  lubricated  with  certain  smooth  phrases, 
I  back  them  down,  metaphorically  speaking, 
stern-foremost,  into  their  "  native  element," 
the  great  ocean  of  out-doors.  Well,  now, 
there  are  poems  as  hard  to  get  rid  of  as 
these  rural  visitors.  They  come  in  glibly, 
use  up  all  the  serviceable  rhymes,  day,  ray. 
beauty,  duty,  skies,  eyes,  other,  brother, 
mountain,  fountain,  and  the  like  ;  and  so 
they  go  on  until  you  think  it  is  time  for  the 
wind-up,  and  the  wind-up  won't  come  on  any 
terms.  So  they  lie  about  until  you  get  sick 
of  the  sight  of  them,  and  end  by  thrusting 
some  cold  scrap  of  a  final  couplet  upon  them, 
and  turning  them  out  of  doors.  I  suspect  a 
good  many  "  impromptus "  could  tell  just 
such  a  story  as  the  above.  —  Here  turning 


24  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

to  our  landlady,  I  used  an  illustration  whicb 
pleased  the  company  much  at  the  time,  and 
has  since  been  highly  commended.  "  Ma 
dam,"  I  said,  "  you  can  pour  three  gills  and 
three  quarters  of  honey  from  that  pint  jug, 
if  it  is  full,  in  less  than  one  minute ;  but, 
Madam,  you  could  not  empty  that  last  quar 
ter  of  a  gill,  though  you  were  turned  into  a 
marble  Hebe,  and  held  the  vessel  upside 
down  for  a  thousand  years." 

One  gets  tired  to  death  of  the  old,  old 
rhymes,  such  as  you  see  in  that  copy  of 
verses,  —  which  I  don't  mean  to  abuse,  or  to 
praise  either.  I  always  feel  as  if  I  were  a 
cobbler,  putting  new  top-leathers  to  an  old 
pair  of  boot-soles  and  bodies,  when  I  am  fit 
ting  sentiments  to  these  venerable  jingies. 

youth 

morning 

truth 

warning". 

Nine  tenths  of  the  "  Juvenile  Poems " 
written  spring  out  of  the  above  musical  and 
suggestive  coincidences. 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  our  landlady's  daughter. 

I  did  not  address  the  following  remark  to 
her,  and  I  trust,  from  her  limited  range  of 
reading,  she  will  never  see  it ;  I  said  it  softly 
to  my  next  neighbor. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  25 

When  a  young  female  wears  a  flat  circular 
side-curl,  gummed  on  each  temple,  —  when 
she  walks  with  a  male,  not  arm  in  arm,  but 
his  arm  against  the  back  of  hers,  —  and 
when  she  says  "  Yes  ?  "  with  the  note  of  in 
terrogation,  you  are  generally  safe  in  asking 
her  what  wages  she  gets,  and  who  the  "  fel 
ler  "  was  you  saw  her  with. 

"  What  were  you  whispering  ?  "  said  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  moistening  her  lips, 
as  she  spoke,  in  a  very  engaging  manner. 

44 1  was  only  laying  down  a  principle  of 
social  diagnosis." 

"Yes?" 

—  It  is  curious  to  see  how  the  same  wants 
and   tastes   find  the  same  implements  and 
modes  of  expression  in  all  times  and  places. 
The  young  ladies  of  Otaheite,  as  you  may 
see  in  Cook's  Voyages,  had  a  sort  of  crino 
line  arrangement  fully  equal  in  radius  to  the 
largest   spread   of    our   own    lady  -  baskets. 
When  I  fling  a  Bay-State  shawl  over  my 
shoulders,  I  am  only  taking  a  lesson  from 
the  climate  which  the   Indian  had  learned 
before  me.     A  blanket-shawl  we  call  it,  and 
not  a  plaid ;  and  we  wear  it  like  the  abori 
gines,  and  not  like  the  Highlanders. 

—  We    are    the    Romans  of  the   modern 
world,  —  the  great  assimilating  people.    Con- 


26  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

flicts  and  conquests  are  of  course  necessary 
accidents  with  us,  as  with  our  prototypes. 
And  so  we  come  to  their  style  of  weapon. 
Our  army  sword  is  the  short,  stiff,  pointed 
gladius  of  the  Romans  ;  and  the  American 
bowie-knife  is  the  same  tool,  modified  to 
meet  the  daily  wants  of  civil  society.  I  an 
nounce  at  this  table  an  axiom  not  to  be  found 
in  Montesquieu  or  the  journals  of  Con 
gress  :  — 

The  race  that  shortens  its  weapons  length 
ens  its  boundaries. 

Corollary.  It  was  the  Polish  lance  that 
left  Poland  at  last  with  nothing  of  her  own 
to  bound. 

' '  Dropped  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear  !  ' ' 

What  business  had  Sarmatia  to  be  fight 
ing  for  liberty  with  a  fifteen-foot  pole  be 
tween  her  and  the  breasts  of  her  enemies  ? 
If  she  had  but  clutched  the  old  Roman  and 
young  American  weapon,  and  come  to  close 
quarters,  there  might  have  been  a  chance  for 
her ;  but  it  would  have  spoiled  the  best  pas 
sage  in  "  The  Pleasures  of  Hope." 

-Self-made  men  ?  — Well,  yes.  Of 
course  every  body  likes  and  respects  self- 
made  men.  It  is  a  great  deal  better  to  be 
made  in  that  way  than  not  to  be  made  at  all. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  27 

Are  any  of  you  younger  people  old  enough 
to  remember  that  Irishman's  house  on  the 
marsh  at  Cambridgeport,  which  house  he 
built  from  drain  to  chimney-top  with  his  own 
hands  ?  It  took  him  a  good  many  years  to 
build  it,  and  one  could  see  that  it  was  a  little 
out  of  plumb,  and  a  little  wavy  in  outline, 
and  a  little  queer  and  uncertain  in  general 
aspect.  A  regular  hand  could  certainly 
have  built  a  better  house ;  but  it  was  a  very 
good  house  for  a  "  self-made  "  carpenter's 
house,  and  people  praised  it,  and  said  how 
remarkably  well  the  Irishman  had  succeeded. 
They  never  thought  of  praising  the  fine 
blocks  of  houses  a  little  farther  on. 

Your  self-made  man,  whittled  into  shape 
with  his  own  jack-knife,  deserves  more  credit, 
if  that  is  all,  than  the  regular  engine-turned 
article,  shaped  by  the  most  approved  pat 
tern,  and  French-polished  by  society  and 
travel.  But  as  to  saying  that  one  is  every 
way  the  equal  of  the  other,  that  is  another 
matter.  The  right  of  strict  social  discrimi 
nation  of  all  things  and  persons,  according 
to  their  merits,  native  or  acquired,  is  one  of 
the  most  precious  republican  privileges.  I 
take  the  liberty  to  exercise  it  when  I  say 
that,  other  things  being  equal,  in  most  rela 
tions  of  life  I  prefer  a  man  of  family. 


28  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

What  do  I  mean  by  a  man  of  family  ?  — 
Oh,  I  '11  give  you  a  general  idea  of  what 
I  mean.  Let  us  give  him  a  first-rate  fit  out ; 
it  costs  us  nothing. 

Four  or  five  generations  of  gentlemen  and 
gentlewomen  ;  among  them  a  member  of  his 
Majesty's  Council  for  the  Province,  a  Gov 
ernor  or  so,  one  or  two  Doctors  of  Divinity, 
a  member  of  Congress,  not  later  than  the 
time  of  long  boots  with  tassels. 

Family    portraits.1     The    member  of   the 

1  The  full-length  pictures  by  Copley  I  was  thinking1  of 
are  such  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Memorial  Hall  of  Harvard 
University,  but  many  are  to  be  met  with  in  different  parts 
of  New  England,  sometimes  in  the  possession  of  the  poor 
descendants  of  the  rich  gentlefolks  in  lace  ruffles  and 
glistening  satins,  grandees  and  grand  dames  of  the  ante- 
Revolutionary  period.  I  remember  one  poor  old  gentle 
man  who  had  nothing  left  of  his  family  possessions  but 
the  full-length  portraits  of  his  ancestors,  the  Counsellor 
and  his  lady,  saying,  with  a  gleam  of  the  pleasantry 
which  had  come  down  from  the  days  of  Mather  Byles, 
and  "  Balch  the  Hatter,"  and  Sigourney,  that  he  fared 
not  so  badly  after  all,  for  he  had  a  pair  of  canvas-backs 
every  day  through  the  whole  year. 

The  mention  of  these  names,  all  of  which  are  mere 
traditions  to  myself  and  my  contemporaries,  reminds  me 
of  the  long  succession  of  wits  and  humorists  whose  com 
panionship  has  been  the  delight  of  their  generation,  and 
who  leave  nothing  on  record  by  which  they  will  be  re 
membered  ;  Yoricks  who  set  the  table  on  a  roar,  story 
tellers  who  gave  us  scenes  of  life  in  monologue  better 
than  the  stilted  presentments  of  the  stage,  and  those 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  29 

Council,  by  Smibert.  The  great  merchant- 
uncle,  by  Copley,  full  length,  sitting  in  his 
arm-chair,  in  a  velvet  cap  and  flowered  robe, 
with  a  globe  by  him,  to  show  the  range  of 
his  commercial  transactions,  and  letters  with 
large  red  seals  lying  round,  one  directed 
conspicuously  to  The  Honorable,  etc.,  etc. 
Great  -  grandmother,  by  the  same  artist  ; 
brown  satin,  lace  very  fine,  hands  superla 
tive  ;  grand  old  lady,  stiffish,  but  imposing. 
Her  mother,  artist  unknown  ;  flat,  angular, 
hanging  sleeves ;  parrot  on  fist.  A  pair  of 
Stuarts,  viz.,  1.  A  superb,  full-blown,  medi 
aeval  gentleman,  with  a  fiery  dash  of  Tory 
blood  in  his  veins,  tempered  down  with  that 

always  welcome  friends  with  social  interior  furnishings, 
whose  smile  provoked  the  wit  of  others  and  whose  rich, 
musical  laughter  was  its  abundant  reward.  Who  among 
us  in  my  earlier  days  ever  told  a  story  or  carolled  a  rip 
pling  chanson  so  gayly,  so  easily,  so  charmingly  as  John 
Sullivan,  whose  memory  is  like  the  breath  of  a  long  by 
gone  summer  ?  Mr.  Arthur  Gilman  has  left  his  monu 
ment  in  the  stately  structures  he  planned ;  Mr.  James  T. 
Fields,  in  the  pleasant  volumes  full  of  precious  recollec 
tions  ;  but  twenty  or  thirty  years  from  now  old  men  will 
tell  their  boys  that  the  Yankee  story-teller  died  with  the 
first,  and  that  the  chief  of  our  literary  reminiscents, 
whose  ideal  portrait  gallery  reached  from  Wordsworth  to 
Swinburne,  left  us  when  the  second  bowed  his  head  and 
' '  fell  on  sleep, ' '  no  longer  to  delight  the  guests  whom 
his  hospitality  gathered  around  him  with  the  pictures  to 
which  his  lips  gave  life  and  action. 


30  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

of  a  fine  old  rebel  grandmother,  and  warmed 
up  with  the  best  of  old  India  Madeira  ;  his 
face  is  one  flame  of  ruddy  sunshine ;  his 
ruffled  shirt  rushes  out  of  his  bosom  with  an 
impetuous  generosity,  as  if  it  would  drag 
his  heart  after  it ;  and  his  smile  is  good  for 
twenty  thousand  dollars  to  the  Hospital,  be 
sides  ample  bequests  to  all  relatives  and  de 
pendents.  2.  Lady  of  the  same ;  remark 
able  cap  ;  high  waist,  as  in  time  of  Empire  ; 
bust  d  la  Josephine  ;  wisps  of  curls,  like 
celery-tips,  at  sides  of  forehead  ;  complexion 
clear  and  warm,  like  rose-cordial.  As  for  the 
miniatures  by  Malbone,  we  don't  count  them 
in  the  gallery. 

Books,  too,  with  the  names  of  old  college- 
students  in  them,  —  family  names  ;  —  you 
will  find  them  at  the  head  of  their  respec 
tive  classes  in  the  days  when  students  took 
rank  on  the  catalogue  from  their  parents' 
condition.  Elzevirs,  with  the  Latinized  ap 
pellations  of  youthful  progenitors,  and  Hie 
liber  est  meus  on  the  title-page.  A  set  of 
Hogarth's  original  plates.  Pope,  original 
edition,  15  volumes,  London,  1717.  Barrow 
on  the  lower  shelves,  in  folio.  Tillotson  on 
the  upper,  in  a  little  dark  platoon  of  octo 
decimos. 

Some  family  silver  ;  a  string  of  wedding 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  31 

and  funeral  rings ;  the  arms  of  the  family 
curiously  blazoned ;  the  same  in  worsted,  by 
a  maiden  aunt. 

If  the  man  of  family  has  an  old  place  to 
keep  these  things  in,  furnished  with  claw- 
footed  chairs  and  black  mahogany  tables, 
and  tall  bevel-edged  mirrors,  and  stately  up 
right  cabinets,  his  outfit  is  complete. 

No,  my  friends,  I  go  (always,  other  things 
being  equal)  for  the  man  who  inherits  family 
traditions  and  the  cumulative  humanities  of 
at  least  four  or  five  generations.  Above  all 
things,  as  a  child,  he  should  have  tumbled 
about  in  a  library.  All  men  are  afraid  of 
books,  who  have  not  handled  them  from  in 
fancy.  Do  you  suppose  our  dear  didascalos  a 
over  there  ever  read  Poll  Synopsis,  or  con 
sulted  Castelli  Lexicon,  while  he  was  grow 
ing  up  to  their  stature  ?  Not  he  ;  but  virtue 
passed  through  the  hem  of  their  parchment 
and  leather  garments  whenever  he  touched 

"  Our  dear  didascalos''''  was  meant  for  Professor 
James  Russell  Lowell,  now  Minister  to  England.  It  re 
quires  the  union  of  exceptional  native  g-if ts  and  genera 
tions  of  training-  to  bring-  the  "  natural  man  "  of  New 
England  to  the  completeness  of  scholarly  manhood,  such 
as  that  which  adds  new  distinction  to  the  name  he  bears, 
already  remarkable  for  its  successive  generations  of  emi 
nent  citizens. 

"Self-made"  is  imperfectly  made,  or  education  is  a 
superfluity  and  a  failure. 


32  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

them,  as  the  precious  drugs  sweated  through 
the  bat's  handle  in  the  Arabian  story.  I  tell 
you  he  is  at  home  wherever  he  smells  the  in 
vigorating  fragrance  of  Russia  leather.  No 
self-made  man  feels  so.  One  may,  it  is  true, 
have  all  the  antecedents  I  have  spoken  of, 
and  yet  be  a  boor  or  a  shabby  fellow.  One 
may  have  none  of  them,  and  yet  be  fit  for 
councils  and  courts.  Then  let  them  change 
places.  Our  social  arrangement  has  this 
great  beauty,  that  its  strata  shift  up  and 
down  as  they  change  specific  gravity,  with 
out  being  clogged  by  layers  of  prescription. 
But  I  still  insist  on  my  democratic  liberty 
of  choice,  and  I  go  for  the  man  with  the 
gallery  of  family  portraits  against  the  one 
with  the  twenty-five-cent  daguerreotype,  un 
less  I  find  out  that  the  last  is  the  better  of 
the  two. 

—  I  should  have  felt  more  nervous  about 
the  late  comet,  if  I  had  thought  the  world 
was  ripe.  But  it  is  very  green  yet,  if  I  am 
not  mistaken ;  and  besides,  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  coal  to  use  up,  which  I  cannot  bring 
myself  to  think  was  made  for  nothing.  If 
certain  things,  which  seem  to  me  essential  to 
a  millennium,  had  come  to  pass,  1  should 
have  been  frightened  ;  but  they  haven't. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  my 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  33 


LATTER-DAY  WARNINGS. 

When  legislators  keep  the  law, 

When  banks  dispense  with  bolts  and  locks, 
When  berries,  whortle  —  rasp  —  and  straw  — 

Grow  bigger  downwards  through  the  box,  — 

When  he  that  selleth  house  or  land 
Shows  leak  in  roof  or  flaw  in  right,  — 

When  haberdashers  choose  the  stand 

Whose  window  hath  the  broadest  light,  — 

When  preachers  tell  us  all  they  think, 
And  party  leaders  all  they  mean,  — 

When  what  we  pay  for,  that  we  drink, 
From  real  grape  and  coffee-bean,  — 

When  lawyers  take  what  they  would  give, 
And  doctors  give  what  they  would  take,  — 

When  city  fathers  eat  to  live, 

Save  when  they  fast  for  conscience'  sake,  -=* 

When  one  that  hath  a  horse  on  sale 
Shall  bring  his  merit  to  the  proof, 

Without  a  lie  for  every  nail 

That  holds  the  iron  on  the  hoof,  — 

When  in  the  usual  place  for  rips 

Our  gloves  are  stitched  with  special  care, 

And  guarded  well  the  whalebone  tips 
Where  first  umbrellas  need  repair,  — 

When  Cuba's  weeds  have  quite  forgot 

The  power  of  suction  to  resist, 
And  claret-bottles  harbor  not 

Such  dimples  as  would  hold  your  fist,  — • 


34  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

When  publishers  no  longer  steal, 

And  pay  for  what  they  stole  before,  — 

When  the  first  locomotive's  wheel 

Rolls  through  the  Hoosac  tunnel's  bore ;  l  -=- 

Till  then  let  Gumming  blaze  away, 
And  Miller's  saints  blow  up  the  globe  ; 

But  when  you  see  that  blessed  day, 
Then  order  your  ascension  robe  ! 

The  company  seemed  to  like  the  verses5 
and  I  promised  them  to  read  others  occa 
sionally,  if  they  had  a  mind  to  hear  them. 
Of  course  they  would  not  expect  it  every 
morning.  Neither  must  the  reader  suppose 
that  all  these  things  I  have  reported  were 
said  at  any  one  breakfast-time.  I  have  not 
taken  the  trouble  to  date  them,  as  Raspail, 
pere,  used  to  date  every  proof  he  sent  to  the 
printer ;  but  they  were  scattered  over  several 
breakfasts ;  and  I  have  said  a  good  many 
more  things  since,  which  I  shall  very  possi 
bly  print  some  time  or  other,  if  I  am  urged 
to  do  it  by  judicious  friends. 

I  finished  off  with  reading  some  verses  of 

1  This  hoped-for  but  almost  despaired-of  event  oc 
curred  on  the  9th  of  February,  1875.  The  writer  of  the 
above  lines  was  as  much  pleased  as  his  fellow-citizens  at 
the  termination  of  an  enterprise  which  gave  constant  oc 
casion  for  the  most  inveterate  pun  on  record.  When  the 
other  conditions  referred  to  are  as  happily  fulfilled  as 
this  has  been,  he  will  still  say  as  before,  that  it  is  time 
for  the  ascension  garment  to  be  ordered. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  35 

my  friend  the  Professor,  of  whom  you  may 
perhaps  hear  more  by  and  by.  The  Profes 
sor  read  them,  he  told  me,  at  a  farewell 
meeting,  where  the  youngest  of  our  great 
historians  :  met  a  few  of  his  many  friends  at 
their  invitation. 

Yes,  we  knew  we  must  lose  him,  —  though    friendship 

may  claim 

To  blend  her  green  leaves  with  the  laurels  of  fame  ; 
Though  fondly,  at  parting,  we  call  him  our  own, 
'T  is  the  whisper  of  love  when  the  bugle  has  blown. 

As  the  rider  who  rests  with  the  spur  on  his  heel,  — 
As  the  guardsman  who  sleeps  in  his  corselet  of  steel,  — 
As  the  archer  who  stands  with  his  shaft  on  the  string, 
He  stoops  from  his  toil  to  the  garland  we  bring. 

What  pictures  yet  slumber  unborn  in  his  loom 

Till  their  warriors  shall  breathe  and  their  beauties  shall 

bloom, 

While  tbe  tapestry  lengthens  the  life-glowing  dyes 
That  caught  from  our  sunsets  the  stain  of  their  skies ! 

In  the  alcoves  of  death,  in  the  charnels  of  time, 
Where  flit  the  gaunt  spectres  of  passion  and  crime, 
There  are  triumphs  untold,  there  are  martyrs  unsung, 
There  are  heroes  yet  silent  to  speak  with  his  tongue  ! 

Let  us  hear  the  proud  story  which  time  has  bequeathed 
From  lips  that  are  warm  with  the  freedom  they  breathed  ! 

1  "  The  youngest  of  our  great  historians,"  referred  to 
in  the  poem,  was  John  Lothrop  Motley.  His  career  of 
authorship  was  as  successful  as  it  was  noble,  and  his 
works  are  among  the  chief  ornaments  of  our  national 
literature.  Are  Republics  still  ungrateful,  as  of  old  ? 


36  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Let  him  summon  its  tyrants,  and  tell  us  their  doom, 
Though  he  sweep  the  black  past  like  Van  Tromp  with 
his  broom ! 

The  dream  flashes  by,  for  the  west-winds  awake 
On  pampas,  on  prairie,  o'er  mountain  and  lake, 
To  bathe  the  swift  bark,  like  a  sea-girdled  shrine, 
With  incense  they  stole  from  the  rose  and  the  pine. 

So  fill  a  bright  cup  with  the  sunlight  that  gushed 
When  the  dead   summer's   jewels   were   trampled    and 

crushed  : 
THE  TRUE  KNIGHT  OF  LEARNING,  —  the  world  holds 

him  dear, — 
Love  bless  him,  Joy  crown  him,  God  speed  his  career ! 


II. 

I  REALLY  believe  some  people  save  their 
bright  thoughts  as  being  too  precious  for 
conversation.  What  do  you  think  an  ad 
miring  friend  said  the  other  day  to  one  that 
was  talking  good  things,  —  good  enough  to 
print  ?  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  you  are  wasting 
merchantable  literature,  a  cash  article,  at 
the  rate,  as  nearly  as  I  can  tell,  of  fifty  dol 
lars  an  hour."  The  talker  took  him  to  the 
window  and  asked  him  to  look  out  and  tell 
what  he  saw. 

"  Nothing  but  a  very  dusty  street,"  he 
said,  "  and  a  man  driving  a  sprinkling-ma 
chine  through  it." 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  37 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  the  man  he  is  wast 
ing  that  water  ?  What  would  be  the  state  of 
the  highways  of  life,  if  we  did  not  drive  our 
thought-sprinklers  through  them  with  the 
valves  open,  sometimes  ? 

"  Besides,  there  is  another  thing  about 
this  talking,  which  you  forget.  It  shapes 
our  thoughts  for  us ;  —  the  waves  of  conversa 
tion  roll  them  as  the  surf  rolls  the  pebbles 
on  the  shore.  Let  me  modify  the  image  a. 
little.  I  rough  out  my  thoughts  in  talk  as 
an  artist  models  in  clay.  Spoken  language 
is  so  plastic,  —  you  can  pat  and  coax,  and 
spread  and  shave,  and  rub  out,  and  fill  up, 
and  stick  on  so  easily,  when  you  work  that 
soft  material,  that  there  is  nothing  like  it  for 
modelling.  Out  of  it  come  the  shapes  which 
you  turn  into  marble  or  bronze  in  your  im 
mortal  books,  if  you  happen  to  write  such. 
Or,  to  use  another  illustration,  writing  or 
printing  is  like  shooting  with  a  rifle;  you 
may  hit  your  reader's  mind,  or  miss  it;  — 
but  talking  is  like  playing  at  a  mark  with 
the  pipe  of  an  engine  ;  if  it  is  within  reach, 
and  you  have  time  enough,  you  can't  help 
hitting  it." 

The  company  agreed  that  this  last  illus 
tration  was  of  superior  excellence,  or,  in 
the  phrase  used  by  them,  "  Fust-rate." 


38  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

I  acknowledged  the  compliment,  but  gen 
tly  rebuked  the  expression.  "  Fust-rate," 
"  prime,"  "  a  prime  article,"  "  a  superior 
piece  of  goods,"  "  a  handsome  garment,"  "  a 
gent  in  a  flowered  vest,"  —  all  such  expres 
sions  are  final.  They  blast  the  lineage  of 
him  or  her  who  utters  them,  for  generations 
up  and  down.  There  is  one  other  phrase 
which  will  soon  come  to  be  decisive  of  a 
man's  social  status,  if  it  is  not  already : 
"  That  tells  the  whole  story."  It  is  an  ex 
pression  which  vulgar  and  conceited  people 
particularly  affect,  and  which  well-meaning 
ones,  who  know  better,  catch  from  them. 
It  is  intended  to  stop  all  debate,  like  the 
previous  question  in  the  General  Court. 
Only  it  does  n't ;  simply  because  "  that  " 
does  not  usually  tell  the  whole,  nor  one  half 
of  the  whole  story. 

—  It  is  an  odd  idea,  that  almost  all  our 
people  have  had  a  professional  education. 
To  become  a  doctor  a  man  must  study  some 
three  years  and  hear  a  thousand  lectures, 
more  or  less.  Just  how  much  study  it  takes 
to  make  a  lawyer  I  cannot  say,  but  probably 
not  more  than  this.  Now,  most  decent  people 
hear  one  hundred  lectures  or  sermons  (dis 
courses)  on  theology  every  year,  —  and  this, 
twenty,  thirty,  fifty  years  together.  They 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  39 

read  a  great  many  religious  books  besides. 
The  clergy,  however,  rarely  hear  any  sermons 
except  what  they  preach  themselves.  A  dull 
preacher  might  be  conceived,  therefore,  to 
lapse  into  a  state  of  quasi  heathenism,  sim 
ply  for  want  of  religious  instruction.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  an  attentive  and  intelli 
gent  hearer,  listening  to  a  succession  of  wise 
teachers,  might  become  actually  better  edu 
cated  in  theology  than  any  one  of  them. 
We  are  all  theological  students,  and  more 
of  us  qualified  as  doctors  of  divinity  than 
have  received  degrees  at  any  of  the  univer 
sities. 

It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  very  good 
people  should  often  find  it  ^difficult,  if  not 
impossible,  to  keep  their  attention  fixed  upon 
a  sermon  treating  feebly  a  subject  which  they 
have  thought  vigorously  about  for  years,  and 
heard  able  men  discuss  scores  of  times.  I 
have  often  noticed,  however,  that  a  hopelessly 
dull  discourse  acts  inductively,  as  electri 
cians  would  say,  in  developing  strong  mental 
currents.  I  am  ashamed  to  think  with  what 
accompaniments  and  variations  and  flour 
ishes  I  have  sometimes  followed  the  droning1 

O 

of  a  heavy  speaker,  —  not  willingly,  —  for 
my  habit  is  reverential,  —  but  as  a  necessary 
result  of  a  slight  continuous  impression  on 


40  THE  AUTOCRAT   OF 

the  senses  and  the  mind,  which  kept  both 
in  action  without  furnishing  the  food  they 
required  to  work  upon.  If  you  ever  saw  a 
crow  with  a  king-bird  after  him,  you  will 
get  an  image  of  a  dull  speaker  and  a  lively 
listener.  The  bird  in  sable  plumage  flaps 
heavily  along  his  straightforward  course, 
while  the  other  sails  round  him,  over  him, 
under  him,  leaves  him,  comes  back  again, 
tweaks  out  a  black  feather,  shoots  away 
once  more,  never  losing  sight  of  him,  and 
finally  reaches  the  crow's  perch  at  the  same 
time  the  crow  does,  having  cut  a  perfect 
labyrinth  of  loops  and  knots  and  spirals 
while  the  slow  fowl  was  painfully  working 
from  one  end  of  his  straight  line  to  the 
other. 

[I  think  these  remarks  were  received 
rather  coolly.  A  temporary  boarder  from 
the  country,  consisting  of  a  somewhat  more 
than  middle-aged  female,  with  a  parchment 
forehead  and  a  dry  little  "  frisette "  shin 
gling  it,  a  sallow  neck  with  a  necklace  of 
gold  beads,  a  black  dress  too  rusty  for  recent 
grief,  and  contours  in  basso-rilievo,  left  the 
table  prematurely,  and  was  reported  to  have 
been  very  virulent  about  what  I  said.  So  I 
went  to  my  good  old  minister,  and  repeated 
the  remarks,  as  nearly  as  I  could  remember 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  41 

them,  to  him.  He  laughed  good-naturedly, 
and  said  there  was  considerable  truth  in 
them.  He  thought  he  could  tell  when  peo 
ple's  minds  were  wandering,  by  their  looks. 
In  the  earlier  years  of  his  ministry  he  had 
sometimes  noticed  this,  when  he  was  preach 
ing  ;  — very  little  of  late  years.  Sometimes, 
when  his  colleague  was  preaching,  he  ob 
served  this  kind  of  inattention ;  but  after 
all,  it  was  not  so  very  unnatural.  I  will  say, 
by  the  way,  that  it  is  a  rule  I  have  long  fol 
lowed,  to  tell  my  worst  thoughts  to  my  min 
ister,  and  my  best  thoughts  to  the  young 
people  I  talk  with.] 

- 1  want  to  make  a  literary  confession 
now,  which  I  believe  nobody  has  made  be 
fore  me.  You  know  very  well  that  I  write 
verses  sometimes,  because  I  have  read  some 
of  them  at  this  table.  (The  company  as 
sented,  —  two  or  three  of  them  in  a  re 
signed  sort  of  way,  as  I  thought,  as  if  they 
supposed  I  had  an  epic  in  my  pocket,  and 
were  going  to  read  half  a  dozen  books  or  so 
for  their  benefit.)  —  I  continued.  Of  course 
I  write  some  lines  or  passages  which  are  bet 
ter  than  others  ;  some  which,  compared  with 
the  others,  might  be  called  relatively  excel 
lent.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  things  that  I 
should  consider  these  relatively  excellent 


42  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

lines  or  passages  as  absolutely  good.  So 
much  must  be  pardoned  to  humanity.  Now 
I  never  wrote  a  "  good"  line  in  my  life,  but 
the  moment  after  it  was  written  it  seemed  a 
hundred  years  old.  Very  commonly  I  had 
a  sudden  conviction  that  I  had  seen  it  some 
where.  Possibly  I  may  have  sometimes  un 
consciously  stolen  it,  but  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  ever  once  detected  any  historical 
truth  in  these  sudden  convictions  of  the  an 
tiquity  of  my  new  thought  or  phrase.  I  have 
learned  utterly  to  distrust  them,  and  never 
allow  them  to  bully  me  out  of  a  thought  or 
line. 

This  is  the  philosophy  of  it.  (Here  the 
number  of  the  company  was  diminished  by 
a  small  secession.)  Any  new  formula  which 
suddenly  emerges  in  our  consciousness  has 
its  roots  in  long  train's  of  thought ;  it  is 
virtually  old  when  it  first  makes  its  appear 
ance  among  the  recognized  growths  of  our 
intellect.  Any  crystalline  group  or  musical 
words  has  had  a  long  and  still  period  to  form 
in.  Here  is  one  theory. 

But  there  is-  a  larger  law  which  perhaps 
comprehends  these  facts.  It  is  this.  The 
rapidity  with  which  ideas  grow  old  in  our 
memories  is  in  a  direct  ratio  to  the  squares 
of  their  importance.  Their  apparent  age 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  43 

runs  up  miraculously,  like  the  value  of  dia 
monds,  as  they  increase  in  magnitude.  A 
great  calamity,  for  instance,  is  as  old  as  the 
trilobites  an  hour  after  it  has  happened.  It 
stains  backward  through  all  the  leaves  we 
have  turned  over  in  the  book  of  life,  before 
its  blot  of  tears  or  of  blood  is  dry  on  the 
page  we  are  turning.  For  this  we  seem  to 
have  lived  ;  it  was  foreshadowed  in  dreams 
that  we  leaped  out  of  in  the  cold  sweat  of 
terror ;  in  the  "  dissolving  views "  of  dark 
day  -  visions  ;  all  omens  pointed  to  it  ;  all 
paths  led  to  it.  After  the  tossing  half-for- 
getfulness  of  the  first  sleep  that  follows  such 
an  event,  it  comes  upon  us  afresh,  as  a  sur 
prise,  at  waking ;  in  a  few  moments  it  is  old 
again,  —  old  as  eternity. 

[I  wish  I  had  not  said  all  this  then  and 
there.  I  might  have  known  better.  The 
pale  schoolmistress,  in  her  mourning  dress, 
was  looking  at  me,  as  I  noticed,  with  a  wild 
sort  of  expression.  All  at  once  the  blood 
dropped  out  of  her  cheeks  as  the  mercury 
drops  from  a  broken  barometer-tube,  and 
she  melted  away  from  her  seat  like  an  image 
of  snow  ;  a  slung-shot  could  not  have  brought 
her  down  better.  God  forgive  me  ! 

After  this  little  episode,  I  continued,  to 
some  few  who  remained  balancing  teaspoons 


44  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

on  the  edges  of  cups,  twirling  knives,  or  tilt 
ing  upon  the  hind  legs  of  their  chairs  until 
their  heads  reached  the  wall,  where  they  left 
gratuitous  advertisements  cf  various  popular 
cosmetics.] 

When  a  person  is  suddenly  thrust  into 
any  strange,  new  position  of  trial,  he  finds 
the  place  fits  him  as  if  he  had  been  meas 
ured  for  it.  He  has  committed  a  great 
crime,  for  instance,  and  is  sent  to  the  State 
Prison.  The  traditions,  prescriptions,  limi 
tations,  privileges,  all  the  sharp  conditions 
of  his  new  life,  stamp  themselves  upon  his 
consciousness  as  the  signet  on  soft  wax ; 
—  a  single  pressure  is  enough.  Let  me 
strengthen  the  image  a  little.  Did  you  ever 
happen  to  see  that  most  soft-spoken  and  vel 
vet-handed  steam-engine  at  the  Mint?  The 
smooth  piston  slides  backward  and  forward 
as  a  lady  might  slip  her  delicate  finger  in 
and  out  of  a  ring.  The  engine  lays  one  of 
its  fingers  calmly,  but  firmly,  upon  a  bit  of 
metal ;  it  is  a  coin  now,  and  will  remember 
that  touch,  and  tell  a  new  race  about  it,  when 
the  date  upon  it  is  crusted  over  with  twenty 
centuries.  So  it  is  that  a  great  silent-moving 
misery  puts  a  new  stamp  on  us  in  an  hour 
or  a  moment,  —  as  sharp  an  impression  as  if 
it  had  taken  half  a  lifetime  to  engrave  it. 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  45 

It  is  awful  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the 
wholesale  professional  dealers  in  misfortune ; 
undertakers  and  jailers  magnetize  you  in  a 
moment,  and  you  pass  out  of  the  individual 
life  you  were  living  into  the  rhythmical 
movements  of  their  horrible  machinery.  Do 
the  worst  thing  you  can,  or  suffer  the  worst 
that  can  be  thought  of,  you  find  yourself  in 
a  category  of  humanity  that  stretches  back 
as  far  as  Cain,  and  with  an  expert  at  your 
elbow  who  has  studied  your  case  all  out  be 
forehand,  and  is  waiting  for  you  with  his 
implements  of  hemp  or  mahogany.  I  be 
lieve,  if  a  man  were  to  be  burned  in  any  of 
our  cities  to-morrow  for  heresy,  there  would 
be  found  a  master  of  ceremonies  who  knew 
just  how  many  fagots  were  necessary,  and 
the  best  way  of  arranging  the  whole  matter.1 

1  Accidents  are  liable  to  happen  if  no  thoroughly 
trained  expert  happens  to  be  present.  When  Catharine 
Hays  was  burnt  at  Tyburn,  in  172G,  the  officiating  artist 
scorched  his  own  hands,  and  the  whole  business  was  awk 
wardly  managed  for  want  of  practical  familiarity  with 
the  process.  We  have  still  remaining  a  guide  to  direct 
us  in  one  important  part  of  the  arrangements.  Bishop 
Hooper  was  burned  at  Gloucester,  England,  in  the  year 
1555.  A  few  years  ago,  in  making  certain  excavations, 
the  charred  stump  of  the  stake  to  which  he  was  bound 
was  discovered.  An  account  of  the  interesting  ceremony, 
so  important  in  ecclesiastical  history —  the  argumentum  ad 
iynem,  with  a  photograph  of  the  half -burned  stick  of 
timber  was  sent  me  by  my  friend,  Mr  John  Bellows,  of 


46  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

—  So  we  have  not  won  the  Goodwood 
cup  ;  au  contraire,  we  were  a  "  bad  fifth," 
if  not  worse  than  that;  and  trying  it  again, 
and  the  third  time,  has  not  yet  bettered  the 
matter.  Now  I  am  as  patriotic  as  any  of  my 
fellow-citizens,  —  too  patriotic  in  fact,  for  I 
have  got  into  hot  water  by  loving  too  much 
of  my  country ;  in  short,  if  any  man,  whose 
fighting  weight  is  not  more  than  eight  stone 
four  pounds,  disputes  it,  I  am  ready  to  dis 
cuss  the  point  with  him.  I  should  have 
gloried  to  see  the  stars  and  stripes  in  front 
at  the  finish.  I  love  my  country  and  I  love 
horses.  Stubbs's  old  mezzotint  of  Eclipse 
hangs  over  my  desk,  and  Herring's  portrait 
of  Plenipotentiary  —  whom  I  saw  run  at 
Epsom  —  over  my  fireplace.  Did  I  not 
elope  from  school  to  see  Revenge,  and  Pros 
pect,  and  Little  John,  and  Peacemaker  run 
over  the  race-course  where  now  yon  sub 
urban  village  flourishes,  in  the  year  eighteen 
hundred  and  ever-so-few?  Though  I  never 
owned  a  horse,  have  I  not  been  the  propri 
etor  of  six  equine  females,  of  which  one 

Gloucester,  a  zealcms  antiquarian,  widely  known  by  his 
wonderful  miniature  French  dictionary,  one  of  the  schol 
arly  printers  and  publishers  who  honor  the  calling1  of 
Aldus  and  the  Elzevirs.  The  stake  was  big  enough  to 
chain  t  e  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  to  as  fast  as  the  Atha- 
nasian  creed  still  holds  them. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  47 

was  the  prettiest  little  "  Morgin  "  that  ever 
stepped  ?  Listen,  then,  to  an  opinion  I 
have  often  expressed  long  before  this  ven 
ture  of  ours  in  England.  Horse-mcm<7  is 
not  a  republican  institution  ;  horse-trotting 
is.  Only  very  rich  persons  can  keep  race 
horses,  and  everybody  knows  they  are  kept 
mainly  as  gambling  implements.  All  that 
matter  about  blood  and  speed  we  won't  dis 
cuss  ;  we  understand  all  that ;  useful,  very, 
—  of  course,  —  great  obligations  to  the  Go- 
dolphin  "Arabian,"  and  the  rest.  I  say 
racing-horses  are  essentially  gambling  imple 
ments,  as  much  as  roulette  tables.  Now,  I 
am  not  preaching  at  this  moment;  I  may 
read  you  one  of  my  sermons  some  other 
morning ;  but  I  maintain  that  gambling,  on 
the  great  scale,  is  not  republican.  It  be 
longs  to  two  phases  of  society,  —  a  cankered 
over-civilization,  such  as  exists  in  rich  aris 
tocracies,  and  the  reckless  life  of  border 
ers  and  adventurers,  or  the  semi-barbarism 
of  a  civilization  resolved  into  its  primitive 
elements.  Real  Republicanism  is  stern  and 
severe ;  its  essence  is  not  in  forms  of  gov 
ernment,  but  in  the  omnipotence  of  public 
opinion  which  grows  out  of  it.  This  public 
opinion  cannot  prevent  gambling  with  dice 
or  stocks,  but  it  can  and  does  compel  it  to 


48  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

keep  comparatively  quiet.  But  horse  racing 
is  the  most  public  way  of  gambling,  and 
with  all  its  immense  attractions  to  the  sense 
and  the  feelings,  — to  which  I  plead  very  sus 
ceptible,  —  the  disguise  is  too  thin  that  cov 
ers  it,  and  everybody  knows  what  it  means. 
Its  supporters  are  the  Southern  gentry, — 
fine  fellows,  no  doubt,  but  not  republicans 
exactly,  as  we  understand  the  term,  —  a  few 
Northern  millionnaires  more  or  less  thor 
oughly  millioned,  who  do  not  represent  the 
real  people,  and  the  mob  of  sporting  men, 
the  best  of  whom  are  commonly  idlers,  and 
the  worst  very  bad  neighbors  to  have  near 
one  in  a  crowd,  or  to  meet  in  a  dark  alley. 
In  England,  on  the  other  hand,  with  its 
aristocratic  institutions,  racing  is  a  natural 
growth  enough ;  the  passion  for  it  spreads 
downwards  through  all  classes,  from  the 
Queen  to  the  costermonger.  London  is  like 
a  shelled  corn-cob  on  the  Derby  day,  and 
there  is  not  a  clerk  who  could  raise  the 
money  to  hire  a  saddle  with  an  old  hack 
under  it  that  can  sit  down  on  his  office-stool 
the  next  day  without  wincing. 

Now  just  compare  the  racer  with  the  trot 
ter  for  a  moment.  The  racer  is  inciden 
tally  useful,  but  essentially  something  to  bet 
upon,  as  much  as  the  thimble-rigger's  "  little 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  49 

joker."  The  trotter  is  essentially  and  daily 
useful,  and  only  incidentally  a  tool  for  sport 
ing  men. 

What  better  reason  do  you  want  for  the 
fact  that  the  racer  is  most  cultivated  and 
reaches  his  greatest  perfection  in  England, 
and  that  the  trotting  horses  of  America  beat 
the  world  ?  And  why  should  we  have  ex 
pected  that  the  pick  —  if  it  was  the  pick  — 
of  our  few  and  far-between  racing  stables 
should  beat  the  pick  of  England  and  France  ? 
Throw  over  the  fallacious  time -test,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  show  for  it  but  a  nat 
ural  kind  of  patriotic  feeling,  which  we  all 
have,  with  a  thoroughly  provincial  conceit, 
which  some  of  us  must  plead  guilty  to. 

We  may  beat  yet.1     As  an  American,  I 

1  We  have  beaten  in  many  races  in  England  since  this 
was  written,  and  at  last  carried  off  the  blue  ribbon  of  the 
turf  at  Epsom.  But  up  to  the  present  time  trotting 
matches  and  base-ball  are  distinctively  American,  as  con 
trasted  with  running  races  and  cricket,  which  belong,  as 
of  right,  to  England.  The  wonderful  effects  of  breeding 
and  training  in  a  particular  direction  are  shown  in  the 
records  of  the  trotting  horse.  In  1844  Lady  Suffolk 
trotted  a  mile  in  2:2(>j,  which  was,  I  think,  the  fastest 
time  to  that  date.  In  1859  Flora  Temple's  time  at  Kal- 
amazoo  —  I  remember  Mr.  Emerson  surprised  me  once 
by  correcting  my  error  of  a  quarter  of  a  second  in  mer 
tioning  it  —  was  2:19f.  Dexter  in  1867  brought  the  fi^ 
ure  down  to  2:17£.  There  is  now  a  whole  class  of  horses 
that  can  trot  under  2:20,  and  in  1881  Maud  S.  distanced 


50  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

hope  we  shall.  As  a  moralist  and  occa 
sional  sermonizer,  I  am  not  so  anxious  about 
it.  Wherever  the  trotting  horse  goes,  he 
carries  in  his  train  brisk  omnibuses,  lively 
bakers'  carts,  and  therefore  hot  rolls,  the 
jolly  butcher's  wagon,  the  cheerful  gig,  the 
wholesome  afternoon  drive  with  wife  and 
child,  —  all  the  forms  of  moral  excellence, 
except  truth,  which  does  not  agree  with  any 
kind  of  horse-flesh.  The  racer  brings  with 
him  gambling,  cursing,  swearing,  drinking, 
and  a  distaste  for  mob-caps  and  the  middle- 
aged  virtues. 

And  by  the  way,  let  me  beg  you  not  to 
call  a  trotting  match  a  race,  and  not  to 
speak  of  a  "  thoroughbred  "  as  a  "  blooded  " 
horse,  unless  he  has  been  recently  phlebot 
omized.  I  consent  to  your  saying  "blood 
horse,"  if  you  like.  Also,  if,  next  year,  we 
send  out  Posterior  and  Posterioress,  the  win 
ners  of  the  great  national  four-mile  race  in 
7:18J,  and  they  happen  to  get  beaten,  pay 
your  bets,  and  behave  like  men  and  gentle 
men  about  it,  if  you  know  how. 

[I  felt  a  great  deal  better  after  blowing 
off  the  ill-temper  condensed  in  the  above 

all  previous  records  with  2:10;|-.  Many  of  our  best  run 
ning  horses  go  to  England.  Racing  in  distinction  from 
trotting,  I  think,  attracts  less  attention  in  this  country 
now  than  in  the  days  of  American  Eclipse  and  Henry. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  51 

paragraph.  To  brag  little,  —  to  show  well, 
—  to  crow  gently,  if  in  luck,  —  to  pay  up,  to 
own  up,  and  to  shut  up,  if  beaten,  are  the 
virtues  of  a  sporting  man,  and  I  can't  say 
that  I  think  we  have  shown  them  in  any 
great  perfection  of  late.] 

—  Apropos  of  horses.     Do  you  know  how 
important   good    jockeying    is    to    authors  ? 
Judicious    management ;  letting   the    public 
see  your  animal  just  enough,  and  not   too 
much ;  holding  him  up  hard  when  the  mar 
ket  is  too  full  of  him  ;  letting  him  out  at 
just  the  right  buying  intervals ;  always  gently 
feeling  his  mouth  ;  never  slacking  and  never 
jerking  the  rein;  —  this  is  what  I  mean  by 
jockeying. 

—  When  an  author  has  a  number  of  books 
out,  a  cunning  hand  will  keep  them  all  spin 
ning,  as  Signor  Blitz  does  his  dinner-plates  ; 
fetching  each  one  up,  as  it  begins  to  "  wab 
ble,"  by  an  advertisement,  a  puff,  or  a  quo 
tation. 

—  Whenever  the  extracts  from  a  living 
writer  begin  to  multiply  fast  in  the  papers, 
without  obvious  reason,  there  is  a  new  book 
or  a  new  edition  coming.     The  extracts  are 
ground-bait. 

—  Literary  life  is  full  of  curious  phenom 
ena.     I  don't  know  that  there  is  anything 


52  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

more  noticeable  than  what  we  may  call  con 
ventional  reputations.  There  is  a  tacit  un 
derstanding  in  every  community  of  men  of 
letters  that  they  will  not  disturb  the  popular 
fallacy  respecting  this  or  that  electro-gilded 
celebrity.  There  are  various  reasons  for  this 
forbearance  :  one  is  old  ;  one  is  rich  ;  one  is 
good-natured  ;  one  is  such  a  favorite  with 
the  pit  that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  hiss  him 
from  the  manager's  box.  The  venerable  au 
gurs  of  the  literary  or  scientific  temple  may 
smile  faintly  when  one  of  the  tribe  is  men 
tioned  ;  but  the  farce  is  in  general  kept  up 
as  well  as  the  Chinese  comic  scene  of  en 
treating  and  imploring  a  man  to  stay  with 
you,  with  the  implied  compact  between  you 
that  he  shall  by  no  means  think  of  doing  it. 
A  poor  wretch  he  must  be  who  would  wan 
tonly  sit  down  on  one  of  these  bandbox  rep 
utations.  A  Prince-Rupert's-drop,  which  is 
a  tear  of  unannealed  glass,  lasts  indefinitely, 
if  you  keep  it  from  meddling  hands  ;  but 
break  its  tail  off,  and  it  explodes  and  re 
solves  itself  into  powder.  These  celebrities 
I  speak  of  are  the  Prince-Rupert's-drops  of 
the  learned  and  polite  world.  See  how  the 
papers  treat  them  !  What  an  array  of  pleas 
ant  kaleidoscopic  phrases,  which  can  be  ar 
ranged  in  ever  so  many  charming  patterns, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  53 

is  at  their  service  !  How  kind  the  "  Critical 
Notices  "  —  where  small  authorship  comes 
to  pick  up  chips  of  praise,  fragrant,  sugary, 
and  sappy  —  always  are  to  them  !  Well, 
life  would  be  nothing  without  paper-credit 
and  other  fictions  ;  so  let  them  pass  current. 
Don't  steal  their  chips  ;  don't  puncture  their 
swimming  -  bladders  ;  don't  come  down  on 
their  pasteboard  boxes  ;  don't  break  the  ends 
of  their  brittle  and  unstable  reputations, 
you  fellows  who  all  feel  sure  that  your 
names  will  be  household  words  a  thousand 
years  from  now. 

"  A  thousand  years  is  a  good  while,"  said 
the  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite,  thought 
fully. 

—  Where  have  I  been  for  the  last  three 
or  four  days  ?  Down  at  the  Island,1  deer- 
shootiiig.  —  How  many  did  I  bag  ?  I  brought 
home  one  buck  shot.  —  The  Island  is  where  ? 
No  matter.  It  is  the  most  splendid  domain 
that  any  man  looks  upon  in  these  latitudes. 
Blue  sea  around  it,  and  running  up  into  its 
heart,  so  that  the  little  boat  slumbers  like  a 

1  The  beautiful  island  referred  to  is  Naushon,  the 
largest  of  a  group  lying  between  Buzzard's  Bay  and  the 
Vineyard  Sound,  south  of  the  main  land  of  Massachu 
setts.  It  is  the  noblest  domain  in  New  England,  and  the 
present  Lord  of  the  Manor  is  worthy  of  succeeding  "  the 
Governor ' '  of  blessed  memory. 


t>4  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

baby  in  lap,  while  the  tall  ships  are  strip 
ping  naked  to  fight  the  hurricane  outside, 
and  storm-stay-sails  banging  and  flying  in 
ribbons.  Trees,  in  stretches  of  miles ; 
beeches,  oaks,  most  numerous ;  —  many  of 
them  hung  with  moss,  looking  like  bearded 
Druids  ;  some  coiled  in  the  clasp  of  huge, 
dark-stemmed  grape-vines.  Open  patches 
where  the  sun  gets  in  and  goes  to  sleep,  and 
the  winds  come  so  finely  sifted  that  they  are 
as  soft  as  swan's-down.  Rocks  scattered 
about,  —  Stonehenge-like  monoliths.  Fresh 
water  lakes  ;  one  of  them,  Mary's  lake,  crys 
tal-clear,  full  of  flashing  pickerel  lying  un 
der  the  lily-pads  like  tigers  in  the  jungle. 
Six  pounds  of  ditto  killed  one  morning  for 
breakfast.  EGO  fecit. 

The  divinity-student  looked  as  if  he  would 
like  to  question  my  Latin.  No  sir,  I  said, 
—  you  need  not  trouble  yourself.  There  is  a 
higher  law  in  grammar  not  to  be  put  down 
by  Andrews  and  Stoddard.  Then  I  went  on. 

Such  hospitality  as  that  island  has  seen 
there  has  not  been  the  like  of  in  these  our 
New  England  sovereignties.  There  is  noth 
ing  in  the  shape  of  kindness  and  courtesy 
that  can  make  life  beautiful,  which  has  not 
found  its  home  in  that  ocean-principality.  It 
has  welcomed  all  who  were  worthy  of  wel- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  55 

come,  from  the  pale  clergyman  who  came  to 
breathe  the  sea-air  with  its  medicinal  salt 
and  iodine,  to  the  great  statesman  who 
turned  his  back  on  the  affairs  of  empire, 
and  smoothed  his  Olympian  forehead,  and 
flashed  his  w.hite  teeth  in  merriment  over 
the  long  table,  where  his  wit  was  the  keenest 
and  his  story  the  best. 

[I  don't  believe  any  man  ever  talked  like 
that  in  this  world.  I  don't  believe  /talked 
just  so  ;  but  the  fact  is,  in  reporting  one's 
conversation,  one  cannot  help  J3lair-mg  it 
up  more  or  less,  ironing  out  crumpled  para 
graphs,  starching  limp  ones,  and  crimping 
and  plaiting  a  little  sometimes ;  it  is  as  nat 
ural  as  prinking  at  the  looking-glass.] 

—  How  can  a  man  help  writing  poetry  in 
such  a  place  ?  Everybody  does  write  poetry 
that  goes  there.  In  the  state  archives,  kept 
in  the  library  of  the  Lord  of  the  Isle,  are 
whole  volumes  of  unpublished  verse,  —  some 
by  well-known  hands,  and  others  quite  as 
good,  by  the  last  people  you  would  think  of 
as  versifiers,  —  men  who  could  pension  off  all 
the  genuine  poets  in  the  country,  and  buy 
ten  acres  of  Boston  Common,  if  it  was  for 
sale,  with  what  they  had  left.  Of  course  I 
had  to  write  my  little  copy  of  verses  with 
the  rest ;  here  it  is,  if  you  will  hear  me  read 


56  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

it.  When  the  sun  is  in  the  west,  vessels 
sailing  in  an  easterly  direction  look  bright 
or  dark  to  one  who  observes  them  from  the 
north  or  south,  according  to  the  tack  they 
are  sailing  upon.  Watching  them  from  one 
of  the  windows  of  the  great  mansion,  I  saw 
these  perpetual  changes,  and  moralized  thus : 

SUN  AND  SHADOW. 

As  I  look  from  the  isle,  o'er  its  billows  of  green, 

To  the  billows  of  foam-crested  blue, 
Yon  bark,  that  afar  in  the  distance  is  seen, 

Half  dreaming,  my  eyes  will  pursue  : 
Now  dark  in  the  shadow,  she  scatters  the  spray 

As  the  chaff  in  the  stroke  of  the  flail ; 
Now  white  as  the  sea-gull,  she  flies  on  her  way, 

The  sun  gleaming  bright  on  her  sail. 

Yet  her  pilot  is  thinking  of  dangers  to  shun,  — 

Of  breakers  that  whiten  and  roar  ; 
How  little  he  cares,  if  in  shadow  or  sun 

They  see  him  that  gaze  from  the  shore  ! 
He  looks  to  the  beacon  that  looms  from  the  reef, 

To  the  rock  that  is  under  his  lee, 
As  he  drifts  on  the  blast,  like  a  wind-wafted  leaf, 

O'er  the  gulfs  of  the  desolate  sea. 

Thus  drifting  afar  to  the  dim-vaulted  caves 

Where  life  and  its  ventures  are  laid, 
The  dreamers  who  gaze  while  we  battle  the  waves 

May  see  us  in  sunshine  or  shade  ; 
Yet  true  to  our  course,  though  our  shadow  grow  dark 

We  '11  trim  our  broad  sail  as  before  ; 
And  stand  by  the  rudder  that  governs  the  bark, 

Nor  ask  how  we  look  from  the  shore  ! 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  57 

—  Insanity  is  often  the  logic  of  an  accu 
rate  mind  overtasked.  Good  mental  machin 
ery  ought  to  break  its  own  wheels  and  levers, 
if  anything  is  thrust  among  them  suddenly 
which  tends  to  stop  them  or  reverse  their 
motion.  A  weak  mind  does  not  accumulate 
force  enough  to  hurt  itself  ;  stupidity  often 
saves  a  man  from  going  mad.  We  fre 
quently  see  persons  in  insane  hospitals,  sent 
there  in  consequence  of  what  are  called  reli 
gious  mental  disturbances.  I  confess  that 
I  think  better  of  them  than  of  many  who 
hold  the  same  notions,  and  keep  their  wits 
and  appear  to  enjoy  life  very  well,  outside 
of  the  asylums.  Any  decent  person  ought 
to  go  mad,  if  he  really  holds  such  or  such 
opinions.  It  is  very  much  to  his  discredit 
in  every  point  of  view,  if  he  does  not.  What 
is  the  use  of  my  saying  what  some  of  these 
opinions  are?  Perhaps  more  than  one  of 
you  hold  such  as  I  should  think  ought  to 
send  you  straight  over  to  Somerville,  if  you 
have  any  logic  in  your  heads  or  any  human 
feeling  in  your  hearts.  Anything  that  is 
brutal,  cruel,  heathenish,  that  makes  life 
hopeless  for  the  most  of  mankind  and  per 
haps  for  entire  races,  —  anything  that  as 
sumes  the  necessity  of  the  extermination  of 
instincts  which  were  given  to  be  regulated 


58  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

—  no  matter  by  what  name  you  call  it,  — 
no  matter  whether  a  fakir,  or  a  monk,  or 
a  deacon  believes  it,  —  if  received,  ought  to 
produce  insanity  in  every  well-regulated 
mind.  That  condition  becomes  a  normal 
one,  under  the  circumstances.  I  am  very 
much  ashamed  of  some  people  for  retaining 
their  reason,  when  they  know  perfectly  well 
that  if  they  were  not  the  most  stupid  or  the 
most  selfish  of  human  beings,  they  would 
become  non-compotes  at  once. 

[Nobody  understood  this  but  the  theolog 
ical  student  and  the  schoolmistress.  They 
looked  intelligently  at  each  other  ;  but 
whether  they  were  thinking  about  my  para 
dox  or  not,  I  am  not  clear.  —  It  would  be 
natural  enough.  Stranger  things  have  hap 
pened.  Love  and  Death  enter  boarding- 
houses  without  asking  the  price  of  board, 
or  whether  there  is  room  for  them.  Alas ! 
these .  young  people  are  poor  and  pallid ! 
Love  should  be  both  rich  and  rosy,  but  must 
be  either  rich  or  rosy.  Talk  about  military 
duty !  What  is  that  to  the  warfare  of  a 
married  maid-of-all-work,  with  the  title  of 
mistress,  and  an  American  female  constitu 
tion,  which  collapses  just  in  the  middle  third 
of  life,  and  comes  out  vulcanized  India-rub 
ber,  if  it  happen  to  live  through  the  period 
when  health  and  strength  are  most  wanted  ?  ] 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  59 

—  Have  I  ever  acted  in  private  theatri 
cals?  Often.  I  have  played  the  part  of 
the  "  Poor  Gentleman,"  before  a  great  many 
audiences,  —  more,  I  trust,  than  I  shall  ever 
face  again.  I  did  not  wear  a  stage-costume, 
nor  a  wig,  nor  moustaches  of  burnt  cork, 
but  I  was  placarded  and  announced  as  a 
public  performer,  and  at  the  proper  hour  I 
came  forward  with  the  ballet-dancer's  smile 
upon  my  countenance,  and  made  my  bow 
and  acted  my  part.  I  have  seen  my  name 
stuck  up  in  letters  so  big  that  I  was  ashamed 
to  show  myself  in  the  place  by  daylight.  I 
have  gone  to  a  town  with  a  sober  literary 
essay  in  my  pocket,  and  seen  myself  every 
where  announced  as  the  most  desperate  of 
buffos,  —  one  who  was  obliged  to  restrain 
himself  in  the  full  exercise  of  his  powers, 
from  prudential  considerations.  I  have  been 
through  as  many  hardships  as  Ulysses,  in 
the  pursuit  of  my  histrionic  vocation.  I 
have  travelled  in  cars  until  the  conductors 
all  knew  me  like  a  brother.  I  have  run  off 
the  rails,  and  stuck  all  night  in  snow-drifts, 
and  sat  behind  females  that  would  have  the 
window  open  when  one  could  not  wink  with 
out  his  eyelids  freezing  together.  Perhaps  I 
shall  give  you  some  of  my  experiences  one 
of  these  days  ;  —  I  will  not  now,  for  I  have 
.something  else  for  you. 


60  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Private  theatricals,  as  I  have  figured  in 
them  in  country  lyceum-halls,  are  one  thing, 
—  and  private  theatricals,  as  they  may  be 
seen  in  certain  gilded  and  frescoed  saloons 
of  our  metropolis,  are  another.  Yes,  it  is 
pleasant  to  see  real  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
who  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  mouth,  and 
rant,  and  stride,  like  most  of  our  stage 
heroes  and  heroines,  in  the  characters  which 
show  off  their  graces  and  talents  ;  most  of 
all  to  see  a  fresh,  unrouged,  unspoiled,  high 
bred  young  maiden,  with  a  lithe  figure,  and 
a  pleasant  voice,  acting  in  those  love-dramas 
which  make  us  young  again  to  look  upon, 
when  real  youth  and  beauty  will  play  them 
for  us. 

—  Of  course  I  wrote  the  prologue  I  was 
asked  to  write.  I  did  not  see  the  play, 
though.  I  knew  there  was  a  young  lady  in 
it,  and  that  somebody  was  in  love  with  her, 
and  she  was  in  love  with  him,  and  somebody 
(an  old  tutor,  I  believe)  wanted  to  interfere, 
and,  very  naturally,  the  young  lady  was  too 
sharp  for  him.  The  play  of  course  ends 
charmingly ;  there  is  a  general  reconciliation, 
and  all  concerned  form  a  line  and  take  each 
other's  hands,  as  people  always  do  after  they 
have  made  up  their  quarrels,  —  and  then  the 
curtain  falls,  —  if  it  does  not  stick,  as  it 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  61 

commonly  does  at  private  theatrical  exhibi 
tions,  in  which  case  a  boy  is  detailed  to  pull 
it  down,  which  he  does,  blushing  violently. 

Now,  then,  for  my  prologue.  I  am  not 
going  to  change  my  caesuras  and  cadences 
for  anybody  ;  so  if  you  do  not  like  the  he 
roic,  or  iambic  trimeter  brachycatalectic,  you 
had  better  not  wait  to  hear  it. 

THIS  IS  IT. 

A  Prologue  ?     Well,  of  course  the  ladies  know ;  — 

I  have  my  doubts.     No  matter,  —  here  we  go  ! 
What  is  a  prologue  ?     Let  our  Tutor  teach  : 
Pro  means  beforehand  ;  logus  stands  for  speech. 
'T  is  like  the  harper's  prelude  on  the  strings, 
The  prima  donna's  courtesy  ere  she  sings. 

II  The  world  's  a  stage,"  —  as  Shakspeare  said,  one  day; 
The  stage  a  world  —  was  what  he  meant  to  say. 

The  outside  world  's  a  blunder,  that  is  clear  ; 
The  real  world  that  Nature  meant  is  here. 
Here  every  foundling  finds  its  lost  mamma  ; 
Each  rogue,  repentant,  melts  his  stern  papa ; 
Misers  relent,  the  spendthrift's  debts  are  paid, 
The  cheats  are  taken  in  the  traps  they  laid ; 
One  after  one  the  troubles  all  are  past 
Till  the  fifth  act  comes  right  side  up  at  last, 
When  the  young  couple,  old  folks,  rogues,  and  all, 
Join  hands,  so  happy  at  the  curtain's  fall. 

—  Here  suffering  virtue  ever  finds  relief, 

And  black-browed  ruffians  always  come  to  grief, 

—  When  the  lorn  damsel,  with  a  frantic  speech, 
And  cheeks  as  hueless  as  a  brandy-peach, 

Cries,    "Help,   kyind   Heaven!"    and   drops  upon  her 


62  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

On  the  green  —  baize,  —  beneath  the  (canvas)  trees,  — 

See  to  her  side  avenging  Valor  fly  :  — 

"Ha!  Villain!   Draw!   Now,  Terraitorr,  yield  or  die !  5! 

—  When  the  poor  hero  flounders  in  despair, 

Some  dear  lost  uncle  turns  up  millionaire,  — 

Clasps  the  young  scapegrace  with  paternal  joy, 

Sobs  on  his  neck,  "  My  boy  !  MY  BOY  !  !  MY  BOY !  !  !  " 

Ours,  then,  sweet  friends,  the  real  world  to-night 
Of  love  that  conquers  in  disaster's  spite. 
Ladies,  attend  !     While  wof  ul  cares  and  doubt 
Wrong  the  soft  passion  in  the  world  without, 
Though  fortune  scowl,  though  prudence  interfere, 
One  thing  is  certain  :   Love  will  triumph  here  ! 

Lords  of  creation,  whom  your  ladies  rule,  — 

The  world's  great  masters,  when  you're  out  of  school,  - 

Learn  the  brief  moral  of  our  evening's  play  : 

Man  has  his  will,  —  but  woman  has  her  way ! 

While  man's  dull  spirit  toils  in  smoke  and  fire, 

Woman's  swift  instinct  threads  the  electric  wire,  — 

The  magic  bracelet  stretched  beneath  the  waves 

Beats  the  black  giant  with  his  score  of  slaves. 

All  earthly  powers  confess  your  sovereign  art 

But  that  one  rebel,  — woman's  wilful  heart, 

All  foes  you  master  ;  but  a  woman's  wit 

Lets  daylight  through  you  ere  you  know  you  're  hit. 

So,  just  to  picture  what  her  art  can  do, 

Hear  an  old  story  made  as  good  as  new. 

Rudolph,  professor  of  the  headsman's  trade, 

Alike  was  famous  for  his  arm  and  blade. 

One  day  a  prisoner  Justice  had  to  kill 

Knelt  at  the  block  to  test  the  artist's  skill. 

Bare-armed,  swart-visaged,  gaunt,  and  shaggy-browed, 

Rudolph  the  headsman  rose  above  the  crowd. 

His  falchion  lightened  with  a  sudden  gleam, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  63 

As  the  pike's  armor  flashes  in  the  stream. 

He  sheathed  his  blade  ;  he  turned  as  if  to  go ; 

The  victim  knelt,  still  waiting-  for  the  blow. 

"  Why  strikest  not  ?     Perform  thy  murderous  act," 

The  prisoner  said.     (His  voice  was  slightly  cracked.) 

"  Friend  I  have  struck, '*  the  artist  straight  replied; 

"  Wait  but  one  moment,  and  yourself  decide.' ' 

He  held  his  snuff-box, — "  Now  then,  if  you  please  !  " 
The  prisoner  sniffed,  and,  with  a  crashing  sneeze, 
Off  his  head  tumbled,  —  bowled  along  the  floor,  — 
Bounced  down  the  steps ;  —  the  prisoner  said  no  more  ! 

Woman  !   thy  falchion  is  a  glittering  eye ; 
If  death  lurks  in  it,  oh,  how  sweet  to  die ! 
Thou  takest  hearts  as  Rudolph  took  the  head  ; 
We  die  with  love,  and  never  dream  we  're  dead ! 

The  prologue  went  off  very  well,  as  I  hear. 
No  alterations  were  suggested  by  the  lady 
to  whom  it  was  sent,  so  far  as  I  know. 
Sometimes  people  criticise  the  poems  one 
sends  them,  and  suggest  all  sorts  of  im 
provements.1  Who  was  that  silly  body  that 
wanted  Burns  to  alter  "  Scots  wha  hae,"  so 
as  to  lengthen  the  last  line,  thus? — • 

' '  Edward  !  ' '     Chains  and  slavery. 

1  I  remember  being  asked  by  a  celebrated  man  of  let 
ters  to  let  him  look  over  an  early,  but  somewhat  elaborate 
poem  of  mine.  He  read  the  manuscript  and  suggested 
the  change  of  one  word,  which  I  adopted  in  deference  to 
his  opinion.  The  emendation  was  anything  but  an  im 
provement,  and  in  later  editions  the  passage  reads  as 
when  first  written. 


64  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Here  is  a  little  poem  I  sent  a  short  time 
since  to  a  committee  for  a  certain  celebra 
tion.  I  understood  that  it  was  to  be  a  festive 
and  convivial  occasion,  and  ordered  myself 
accordingly.  It  seems  the  president  of  the 
day  was  what  is  called  a  "  teetotaller."  I 
received  a  note  from  him  in  the  following 
words,  containing  the  copy  subjoined,  with 
the  emendations  annexed  to  it. 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  Your  poem  gives  good  sat 
isfaction  to  the  committee.  The  sentiments 
expressed  with  reference  to  liquor  are  not, 
however,  those  generally  entertained  by  this 
community.  I  have  therefore  consulted  the 
clergyman  of  this  place,  who  has  made  some 
slight  changes,  which  he  thinks  will  remove 
all  objections,  and  keep  the  valuable  por 
tions  of  the  poem.  Please  to  inform  me  of 
your  charge  for  said  poem.  Our  means  are 
limited,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Yours  with  respect." 

Here  it  is,  —  with  the  slight  alterations.1 

1  I  recollect  a  British  criticism  of  the  poem  "  with  the 
slight  alterations,"  in  which  the  writer  was  quite  indig 
nant  at  the  treatment  my  convivial  song  had  received. 
No  committee,  he  thong-lit,  would  dare  to  treat  a  Scotch 
author  in  that  way.  I  could  not  help  being  reminded  of 
Sydney  Smith,  and  the  surgical  operation  he  proposed, 
in  order  to  get  a  pleasantry  into  the  head  of  a  North 
Briton. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  65 

Come  !  fill  a  fresh  bumper,  —  for  why  should  we  go 

logwood 
While  the -«eetep- still  reddens  our  cups  as  they  flow! 

decoction 

Pour  out  the  lioh  juiooo-  still  bright  with  the  sun, 

dye-stuff 

Till  o'er  the  brimmed  crystal  the  rubioo  shall  run. 

half-ripened  apples 

The  pur-plo  globod  oluotoro  their  life-dews  have  bled; 

taste  sugar  of  lead 

How  sweet  is  the  breath  of  the  foagpanoo  thoy  ahodl 


rank  poisons  wines .'  !  ! 

For  summer' s  laot  roooo  lie  hid  in  the  -wiuoo 


stable-boys  smoking  long-nines. 

ighod  througl 


scowl  howl  scoff  sneer 

Then  a  -emilo  and  a  glass  and  a  toast  and  a  -ohoop 

strychnine  and  whiskey,  and  ratsbane  and  beer 

For  all4be-good  wino,  and  WO'TO  oomo  of  it  horo 
In  cellar,  in  pantry,  in  attic,  in  hall, 

Down,  down,  with  the  tyrant  that  masters  us  sll  ! 

tr.r,~  1iTrr  4-V.^  •p-i^r  qfi~-fiTi4-  t-l\nt- IrmoTii  f(vr  m  nil  *- 
OIlj,    HVC    LITO  giljf    JUrVUIll.    Ulllib  lilU^iid  1U1    O*i  Ull  T 

The  company  said  I  had  been  shabbily 
treated,  and  advised  me  to  charge  the  com 
mittee  double,  —  which  I  did.  But  as  I 
never  got  my  pay,  I  don't  know  that  it  made 
much  difference.  I  am  a  very  particular 
person  about  having  all  I  write  printed  as  I 
write  it.  I  require  to  see  a  proof,  a  revise, 
a  re-revise,  and  a  double  re-revise,  or  fourth- 
proof  rectified  impression  of  all  my  produc 
tions,  especially  verse.  A  misprint  kills  a 


66  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

sensitive  author.  An  intentional  change  of 
his  text  murders  him.  No  wonder  so  many 
poets  die  young ! 

I  have  nothing  more  to  report  at  this 
time,  except  two  pieces  of  advice  I  gave  to 
the  young  women  at  table.  One  relates  to 
a  vulgarism  of  language,  which  I  grieve  to 
say  is  sometimes  heard  even  from  female 
lips.  The  other  is  of  more  serious  purport, 
and  applies  to  such  as  contemplate  a  change 
of  condition,  —  matrimony,  in  fact. 

—  The  woman  who  "  calc'lates  "  is  lost. 

—  Put  not  your  trust  in  money,  but  put 
your  money  in  trust. 

III. 

[THE  "  Atlantic  "  obeys  the  moon,  and  its 
LUNIVERSARY  has  come  round  again.  I 
have  gathered  up  some  hasty  notes  of  my 
remarks  made  since  the  last  high  tides, 
which  I  respectfully  submit.  Please  to  re 
member  this  is  talk ;  just  as  easy  and  just 
as  formal  as  I  choose  to  make  it.] 

—  I  never  saw  an   author  in  my  life  — 
saving,  perhaps,  one  —  that  did  not  purr  as 
audibly  as  a  full-grown  domestic  cat  {Fells 
Catus,  LINN.)  on  having  his  fur  smoothed 
in  the  right  way  by  a  skilful  hand. 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE,  67 

But  let  me  give  you  a  caution.  Be  very 
careful  how  you  tell  an  author  he  is  droll. 
Ten  to  one  he  will  hate  you  ;  and  if  he  does, 
be  sure  he  can  do  you  a  mischief,  and  very 
probably  will.  Say  you  cried  over  his  ro 
mance  or  his  verses,  and  he  will  love  you 
and  send  you  a  copy.  You  can  laugh  over 
that  as  much  as  you  like,  —  in  private. 

-  Wonder  why  authors  and  actors  are 
ashamed  of  being  funny  ?  -  -  Why,  there 
are  obvious  reasons,  and  deep  philosophical 
ones.  The  clown  knows  very  well  that  the 
women  are  not  in  love  with  him,  but  with 
Hamlet,  the  fellow  in  the  black  cloak  and 
plumed  hat.  Passion  never  laughs.  The 
wit  knows  that  his  place  is  at  the  tail  of  a 
procession. 

If  you  want  the  deep  underlying  reason, 
I  must  take  more  time  to  tell  it.  There  is  a 
perfect  consciousness  in  every  form  of  wit, 
—  using  that  term  in  its  general  sense,  — 
that  its  essence  consists  in  a  partial  and 
incomplete  view  of  whatever  it  touches.  It 
throws  a  single  ray,  separated  from  the  rest, 
-red,  yellow,  blue,  or  any  intermediate 
shade,  - —  upon  an  object ;  never  white  light ; 
that  is  the  province  of  wisdom.  We  get 
beautiful  effects  from  wit,  —  all  the  pris 
matic  colors,  —  but  never  the  object  as  it  is 


68  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

in  fair  daylight.  A  pun,  which  is  a  kind  of 
wit,  is  a  different  and  much  shallower  trick 
in  mental  optics ;  throwing  the  shadows  of 
two  objects  so  that  one  overlies  the  other. 
Poetry  uses  the  rainbow  tints  for  special 
effects,  but  always  keeps  its  essential  object 
in  the  purest  white  light  of  truth.  —  Will 
you  allow  me  to  pursue  this  subject  a  little 
farther  ? 

[They  did  n't  allow  me  at  that  time,  for 
somebody  happened  to  scrape  the  floor  with 
his  chair  just  then  ;  which  accidental  sound, 
as  all  must  have  noticed,  has  the  instanta 
neous  effect  that  the  cutting  of  the  yellow 
hair  by  Iris  had  upon  inf  elix  Dido.  It  broke 
the  charm,  and  that  breakfast  was  over.] 

—  Don't  flatter  yourselves  that  friendship 
authorizes  you  to  say  disagreeable  things  to 
your  intimates.  On  the  contrary,  the  nearer 
you  come  into  relation  with  a  person,  the 
more  necessary  do  tact  and  courtesy  become. 
Except  in  cases  of  necessity,  which  are  rare, 
leave  your  friend  to  learn  unpleasant  truths 
from  his  enemies  ;  they  are  ready  enough  to 
tell  them.  Good-breeding  never  forgets  that 
amour-propre  is  universal.  When  you  read 
the  story  of  the  Archbishop  and  Gil  Bias, 
you  may  laugh,  if  you  will,  at  the  poor  old 
man's  delusion  ;  but  don't  forget  that  the 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  69 

youth  was  the  greater  fool  of  the  two,  and 
that  his  master  served  such  a  booby  rightly 
in  turning  him  out  of  doors. 

—  You  need  not  get  up  a  rebellion  against 
what  I  say,  if  you  find  everything  in  my 
sayings  is  not  exactly  new.  You  can't  pos 
sibly  mistake  a  man  who  means  to  be  honest 
for  a  literary  pickpocket.  I  once  read  an 
introductory  lecture  that  looked  to  me  too 
learned  for  its  latitude.  On  examination,  I 
found  all  its  erudition  was  taken  ready-made 
from  Disraeli.  If  I  had  been  ill-natured,  I 
should  have  shown  up  the  little  great  man, 
who  had  once  belabored  me  in  his  feeble 
way.  But  one  can  generally  tell  these 
wholesale  thieves  easily  enough,  and  they  are 
not  worth  the  trouble  of  putting  them  in  the 
pillory.  I  doubt  the  entire  novelty  of  my 
remarks  just  made  on  telling  unpleasant 
truths,  yet  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  lar 
ceny. 

Neither  make  too  much  of  flaws  and  occa 
sional  overstatements.  Some  persons  seem 
to  think  that  absolute  truth,  in  the  form  of 
rigidly  stated  propositions,  is  all  that  con 
versation  admits.  This  is  precisely  as  if  a 
musician  should  insist  on  having  nothing  but 
perfect  chords  and  simple  melodies,  —  no 
diminished  fifths,  no  flat  sevenths,  no  flour- 


70  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

ishes,  on  any  account.  Now  it  is  fair  to  say, 
that,  just  as  music  must  have  all  these,  so 
conversation  must  have  its  partial  truths,  its 
embellished  truths,  its  exaggerated  truths. 
It  is  in  its  higher  forms  an  artistic  product, 
and  admits  the  ideal  element  as  much  as 
pictures  or  statues.  One  man  who  is  a  little 
too  literal  can  spoil  the  talk  of  a  whole 
tableful  of  men  of  esprit.  —  "  Yes,"  you 
say,  "but  who  wants  to  hear  fanciful  peo 
ple's  nonsense  ?  Put  the  facts  to  it,  and  then 
see  where  it  is !  "  —  Certainly,  if  a  man  is 
too  fond  of  paradox,  —  if  he  is  flighty  and 
empty,  —  if,  instead  of  striking  those  fifths 
and  sevenths,  those  harmonious  discords, 
often  so  much  better  than  the  twinned  oc 
taves,  in  the  music  of  thought,  —  if,  instead 
of  striking  these,  he  jangles  the  chords,  stick 
a  fact  into  him  like  a  stiletto.  But  remem 
ber  that  talking  is  one  of  the  fine  arts,  — 
the  noblest,  the  most  important,  and  the 
most  difficult,  —  and  that  its  fluent  harmo 
nies  may  be  spoiled  by  the  intrusion  of  a 
single  harsh  note.  Therefore  conversation 
which  is  suggestive  rather  than  argumenta 
tive,  which  lets  out  the  most  of  each  talker's 
results  of  thought,  is  commonly  the  pleasant- 
est  and  the  most  profitable.  It  is  not  easy, 
at  the  best,  for  two  persons  talking  together 


TEE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  71 

to  make  the  most  of  each  other's  thoughts, 
there  are  so  many  of  them. 

[The  company  looked  as  if  they  wanted 
an  explanation.] 

When  John  and  Thomas,  for  instance, 
are  talking  together,  it  is  natural  enough 
that  among  the  six  there  should  be  more  or 
less  confusion  and  misapprehension. 

[Our  landlady  turned  pale;  —  no  doubt 
she  thought  there  was  a  screw  loose  in  my 
intellects,  —  and  that  involved  the  probable 
loss  of  a  boarder.  A  severe-looking  person, 
who  wears  a  Spanish  cloak  and  a  sad  cheek, 
fluted  by  the  passions  of  the  melodrama, 
whom  I  understand  to  be  the  professional 
ruffian  of  the  neighboring  theatre,  alluded, 
with  a  certain  lifting  of  the  brow,  drawing 
down  of  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  some 
what  rasping  voce  di  petto,  to  FalstafFs  nine 
men  in  buckram.  Everybody  looked  up  ; 
I  believe  the  old  gentleman  opposite  was 
afraid  I  should  seize  the  carving-knife;  at 
any  rate,  he  slid  it  to  one  side,  as  it  were 
carelessly.] 

I  think,  I  said,  I  can  make  it  plain  to 
Benjamin  Franklin  here,  that  there  are  at 
least  six  personalities  distinctly  to  be  rec 
ognized  as  taking  part  in  that  dialogue  be 
tween  John  and  Thomas. 


72  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 


Three  Johns.  \ 


1.  The   real    John;   known    only    to  his 

Maker. 

2.  John's  ideal  John;  never  the  real  one, 

and  of  ten  veiT  unlike  him. 

3.  Thomas's  ideal  John  ;  never  the  real 

John,  nor  John's  John,  but  often  very 
unlike  either. 


(  1.  The  real  Thomas. 


Three  Thomases.      2.  Thomas's  ideal  Thomas. 
3.  John's  ideal  Thomas. 


Only  one  of  the  three  Johns  is  taxed; 
only  one  can  be  weighed  on  a  platform-bal 
ance  ;  but  the  other  two  are  just  as  impor 
tant  in  the  conversation.  Let  us  suppose 
the  real  John  to  be  old,  dull,  and  ill-looking. 
But  as  the  Higher  Powers  have  not  con 
ferred  on  men  the  gift  of  seeing  themselves 
in  the  true  light,  John  very  possibly  con 
ceives  himself  to  be  youthful,  witty,  and  fas 
cinating,  and  talks  from  the  point  of  view 
of  this  ideal.  Thomas,  again,  believes  him 
to  be  an  artful  rogue,  we  will  say  ;  therefore 
he  is,  so  far  as  Thomas's  attitude  in  the 
conversation  is  concerned,  an  artful  rogue, 
though  really  simple  and  stupid.  The  same 
conditions  apply  to  the  three  Thomases.  It 
follows,  that,  until  a  man  can  be  found  who 
knows  himself  as  his  Maker  knows  him,  or 
who  sees  himself  as  others  see  him,  there 
must  be  at  least  six  persons  engaged  in  every 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  73 

dialogue  between  two.  Of  these,  the  least 
important,  philosophically  speaking,  is  the 
one  that  we  have  called  the  real  person.  No 
wonder  two  disputants  often  get  angry,  when 
there  are  six  of  them  talking  and  listening 
all  at  the  same  time. 

[A  very  unphilosophical  application  of 
the  above  remarks  was  made  by  a  young  fel 
low  answering  to  the  name  of  John,  who 
sits  near  me  at  table.  A  certain  basket  of 
peaches,  a  rare  vegetable,  little  known  to 
boarding-houses,  was  on  its  way  to  me  ma 
this  unlettered  Johannes.  He  appropriated 
the  three  that  remained  in  the  basket,  re 
marking  that  there  was  just  one  apiece  for 
him.  I  convinced  him  that  his  practical  in 
ference  was  hasty  and  illogical,  but  in  the 
mean  time  he  had  eaten  the  peaches.] 

—  The  opinions  of  relatives  as  to  a  man's 
powers  are  very  commonly  of  little  value ; 
not  merely  because  they  sometimes  overrate 
their  own  flesh  and  blood,  as  some  may  sup 
pose  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  are  quite  as 
likely  to  underrate  those  whom  they  have 
grown  into  the  habit  of  considering  like 
themselves.  The  advent  of  genius  is  like 
what  florists  style  the  breaking  of  a  seed 
ling  tulip  into  what  we  may  call  high-caste 
colors,  • —  ten  thousand  dingy  flowers,  then 


74  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

one  with  the  divine  streak ;  or,  if  you  prefer 
it,  like  the  coming  up  in  old  Jacob's  garden 
of  that  most  gentlemanly  little  fruit,  the 
seckel  pear,  which  I  have  sometimes  seen  in 
shop-windows.  It  is  a  surprise,  —  there  is 
nothing  to  account  for  it.  All  at  once  we 
find  that  twice  two  make  five.  Nature  is 
fond  of  what  are  called  "  gift-enterprises." 
This  little  book  of  life  which  she  has  given 
into  the  hands  of  its  joint  possessors  is  com 
monly  one  of  the  old  story-books  bound  over 
again.  Only  once  in  a  great  while  there  is 
a  stately  poem  in  it,  or  its  leaves  are  illu 
minated  with  the  glories  of  art,  or  they  en 
fold  a  draft  for  untold  values  signed  by  the 
million-fold  millionnaire  old  mother  herself. 
But  strangers  are  commonly  the  first  to  find 
the  "  gift "  that  came  with  the  little  book. 

It  may  be  questioned  whether  anything 
can  be  conscious  of  its  own  flavor.  Whether 
the  musk-deer,  or  the  civet-cat,  or  even  a 
still  more  eloquently  silent  animal  that  might 
be  mentioned,  is  aware  of  any  personal  pe 
culiarity,  may  well  be  doubted.  No  man 
knows  his  own  voice  ;  many  men  do  not 
know  their  own  profiles.  Every  one  remem 
bers  Carlyle's  famous  "  Characteristics  "  ar 
ticle  ;  allow  for  exaggerations,  and  there  is  a 
great  deal  in  his  doctrine  of  the  self-uncon- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  76 

sciousness  of  genius.  It  comes  under  the 
great  law  just  stated.  This  incapacity  of 
knowing  its  own  traits  is  often  found  in  the 
family  as  well  as  in  the  individual.  So  never 
mind  what  your  cousins,  brothers,  sisters, 
uncles,  aunts,  and  the  rest,  say  about  that 
fine  poem  you  have  written,  but  send  it 
(postage-paid)  to  the  editors,  if  there  are 
any,  of  the  "  Atlantic,"  —  which,  by  the 
way,  is  not  so  called  because  it  is  a  notion, 
as  some  dull  wits  wish  they  had  said,  but 
are  too  late. 

—  Scientific  knowledge,  even  in  the  most 
modest  persons,  has  mingled  with  it  a  some 
thing  which  partakes  of  insolence.  Abso 
lute,  peremptory  facts  are  bullies,  and  those 
who  keep  company  with  them  are  apt  to  get 
a  bullying  habit  of  mind ;  —  not  of  man 
ners,  perhaps  ;  they  may  be  soft  and  smooth, 
but  the  smile  they  carry  has  a  quiet  asser 
tion  in  it,  such  as  the  Champion  of  the 
Heavy  Weights,  commonly  the  best-natured, 
but  not  the  most  diffident  of  men,  wears 
upon  what  he  very  inelegantly  calls  his 
"mug."  Take  the  man,  for  instance,  who 
deals  in  the  mathematical  sciences.  There 
is  no  elasticity  in  a  mathematical  fact ;  if 
you  bring  up  against  it.  it  never  yields  a 
hair's  breadth  ;  everything  must  go  to  pieces 


76  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

that  comes  in  collision  with  it.  What  the 
mathematician  knows  being  absolute,  uncon 
ditional,  incapable  of  suffering  question,  it 
should  tend,  in  the  nature  of  things,  to  breed 
a  despotic  way  of  thinking.  So  of  those 
who  deal  with  the  palpable  and  often  unmis 
takable  facts  of  external  nature ;  only  in  a 
less  degree.  Every  probability  —  and  most 
of  our  common,  working  beliefs  are  proba 
bilities  —  is  provided  with  buffers  at  both 
ends,  which  break  the  force  of  opposite 
opinions  clashing  against  it ;  but  scientific 
certainty  has  no  spring  in  it,  no  courtesy,  no 
possibility  of  yielding.  All  this  must  react 
on  the  minds  which  handle  these  forms  of 
truth. 

— •  Oh,  you  need  not  tell  me  that  Messrs. 
A.  and  B.  are  the  most  gracious,  unassuming 
people  in  the  world,  and  yet  preeminent  in 
the  ranges  of  science  I  am  referring  to.  I 
know  that  as  well  as  you.  But  mark  this 
which  I  am  going  to  say  once  for  all :  If  I 
had  not  force  enough  to  project  a  principle 
full  in  the  face  of  the  half  dozen  most  ob 
vious  facts  which  seem  to  contradict  it,  I 
would  think  only  in  single  file  from  this  day 
forward.  A  rash  man,  once  visiting  a  cer 
tain  noted  institution  at  South  Boston,  ven 
tured  to  express  the  sentiment,  that  man  is 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  77 

a  rational  being.  An  old  woman  who  was 
an  attendant  in  the  Idiot  School  contradicted 
the  statement,  and  appealed  to  the  facts  be 
fore  the  speaker  to  disprove  it.  The  rash 
man  stuck  to  his  hasty  generalization,  not 
withstanding. 

[ —  It  is  my  desire  to  be  useful  to  those 
with  whom  I  am  associated  in  my  daily  re 
lations.  I  not  unfrequently  practise  the  di 
vine  art  of  music  in  company  with  our  land 
lady's  daughter,  who,  as  I  mentioned  before, 
is  the  owner  of  an  accordion.  Having  my 
self  a  well-marked  barytone  voice  of  more 
than  half  an  octave  in  compass,  I  sometimes 
add  my  vocal  powers  to  her  execution  of 

u  Thou,  thou  reign'st  in  this  bosom," 

not,  however,  unless  her  mother  or  some 
other  discreet  female  is  present,  to  prevent 
misinterpretation  or  remark.  I  have  also 
taken  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  Benjamin 
Franklin,  before  referred  to,  sometimes 
called  B.  F.,  or  more  frequently  Frank,  in 
imitation  of  that  felicitous  abbreviation, 
combining  dignity  and  convenience,  adopted 
by  some  of  his  betters.  My  acquaintance 
with  the  French  language  is  very  imperfect, 
I  having  never  studied  it  anywhere  but  in 
Paris,  which  is  awkward,  as  B.  F.  devotes 
himself  to  it  with  tho  peculiar  advantage  of 


78  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

an  Alsacian  teacher.  The  boy,  I  think,  is 
doing  well,  between  us,  notwithstanding. 
The  following  is  an  uncorrected  French  ex 
ercise,  written  by  this  young  gentleman. 
His  mother  thinks  it  very  creditable  to  his 
abilities;  though,  being  unacquainted  with 
the  French  language,  her  judgment  cannot 
be  considered  final. 

LE  RAT  DBS  SALONS  A  LECTURE. 

CE  rat  c.i  est  un  animal  fort  singulier.  II  a  deux  pattes 
de  derriere  sur  lesquelles  il  marche,  et  deux  pattes  de 
devant  dont  il  fait  usage  pour  tenir  les  journaux.  Get 
animal  a  la  peau  noire  pour  le  plupart,  et  porte  un  cercle 
blanchatre  autour  de  son  cou.  On  le  trouve  tous  les 
jours  aux  dits  salons,  ou  il  demeure,  digere,  s'il  y  a  de 
quoi  dans  son  interieur,  respire,  tousse,  eternue,  dort,  et 
ronfle  quelquefois,  ayant  toujours  le  semblant  de  lire.  On 
ne  sait  pas  s'il  a  une  autre  gite  que  gala.  II  a  Fair  d'une 
bete  tres  stupide,  mais  il  est  d'une  sagacite*  et  d'une 
vitesse  extraordinaire  quand  il  s'ag'it  de  saisir  un  journal 
nouveau.  On  ne  sait  pas  pourquoi  il  lit,  parcequ'il  ne 
parait  pas  avoir  des  ide'es.  II  vocalise  rarement,  mais 
en  revanche,  il  fait  des  bruits  nasaux  divers.  II  porte  un 
crayon  dans  une  de  ses  poches  pectorales,  avec  lequel  il 
fait  des  marques  sur  les  bords  des  journaux  et  des  livres, 
semblable  aux  suivans  :  III  —  Bah  !  Pooli !  II  ne  f aut 
pas  cependant  les  prendre  pour  des  signes  d' intelligence. 
II  ne  vole  pas,  ordinairement  ;  il  fait  rarement  meme  des 
echanges  de  parapluie,  et  jamais  de  chapeau,  parceque 
son  chapeau  a  toujours  un  caractere  specifique.  On  ne 
sait  pas  au  juste  ce  dont  il  se  nourrit.  Feu  Cuvier  e"tait 
d'avis  que  c'etait  de  1'odeur  du  cuir  des  reliures ;  ce 
qu'on  dit  d'etre  une  nourriture  animale  fort  saine,  et  peu 
chere.  II  vit  bien  longtems.  Enfin  il  meure,  en  laissanf 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  79 

k  ses  he*ritiers  une  carte  du  Salon  a  Lecture  ou  il  avait 
exist^  pendant  sa  vie.  On  pretend  qu'il  revient  toutes 
les  nuits,  apres  la  mort,  visiter  le  Salon.  On  pent  le  voir, 
dit  on,  a  minuit,  dans  sa  place  habituelle,  tenant  le  jour 
nal  du  soir,  et  ayant  a  sa  main  un  crayon  de  charbon.  Le 
lendemain  on  trouve  des  caractores  inconnus  sur  les  bords 
du  journal.  Ce  qui  prouve  que  le  spiritualisme  est  vrai, 
et  que  Messieurs  les  Prof  esseurs  de  Cambridge  sont  des 
imbeciles  qui  ne  savent  rien  du  tout,  du  tout. 

I  think  this  exercise,  which  I  have  not 
corrected,  or  allowed  to  be  touched  in  any 
way,  is  not  discreditable  to  B.  F.  You  ob 
serve  that  he  is  acquiring  a  knowledge  of 
zoology  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  learning 
French.  Fathers  of  families  in  moderate 
circumstances  will  find  it  profitable  to  their 
children,  and  an  economical  mode  of  instruc 
tion,  to  set  them  to  revising  and  amending 
this  boy's  exercise.  The  passage  was  orig 
inally  taken  from  the  "Histoire  Naturelle 
des  Betes  Ruminans  et  Rongeurs,  Bipedes 
et  Autres,"  lately  published  in  Paris.  This 
was  translated  into  English  and  published 
in  London.  It  was  republished  at  Great 
Pedlington,  with  notes  and  additions  by  the 
American  editor.  The  notes  consist  of  an 
interrogation-mark  on  page  53d,  and  a  ref- 
ence  (p.  127th)  to  another  book  "  edited  " 
by  the  same  hand.  The  additions  consist  of 
the  editor's  name*  on  the  title-page  and  back. 


80  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

with  a  complete  and  authentic  list  of  said 
editor's  honorary  titles  in  the  first  of  these 
localities.  Our  boy  translated  the  transla 
tion  back  into  French.  This  may  be  com 
pared  with  the  original,  to  be  found  on  Shelf 
13,  Division  X,  of  the  Public  Library  of 
this  metropolis.] 

—  Some  of  you  boarders  ask  me  from 
time  to  time  why  I  don't  write  a  story,  or  a 
novel,  or  something  of  that  kind.  Instead 
of  answering  each  one  of  you  separately,  I 
will  thank  you  to  step  up  into  the  wholesale 
department  for  a  few  moments,  where  I 
deal  in  answers  by  the  piece  and  by  the 
bale. 

That  every  articulately-speaking  human 
being  has  in  him  stuff  for  one  novel  in  three 
volumes  duodecimo  has  long  been  with  me 
a  cherished  belief.  It  has  been  maintained, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  many  persons  cannot 
write  more  than  one  novel,  —  that  all  after 
that  are  likely  to  be  failures.  —  Life  is  so 
much  more  tremendous  a  thing  in  its  heights 
and  depths  than  any  transcript  of  it  can  be, 
that  all  records  of  human  experience  are  as 
so  many  bound  herbaria  to  the  innumerable 
glowing,  glistening,  rustling,  breathing,  fra 
grance  -  laden,  poison  -  sucking,  life  -  giving, 
death-distilling  leaves  and  flowers  of  the  for- 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  81 

est  and  the  prairies.  All  we  can  do  with 
books  of  human  experience  is  to  make  them 
alive  again  with  something  borrowed  from 
our  own  lives.  We  can  make  a  book  alive 
for  us  just  in  proportion  to  its  resemblance 
in  essence  or  in  form  to  our  own  experience. 
Now  an  author's  first  novel  is  naturally 
drawn,  to  a  great  extent,  from  his  personal 
experiences  ;  that  is,  is  a  literal  copy  of  na 
ture  under  various  slight  disguises.  But 
the  moment  the  author  gets  out  of  his  per 
sonality,  he  must  have  the  creative  power,  as 
well  as  the  narrative  art  and  the  sentiment, 
in  order  to  tell  a  living  story ;  and  this  is 
rare. 

Besides,  there  is  great  danger  that  a  man's 
first  life -story  shall  clean  him  out,  so  to 
speak,  of  his  best  thoughts.  Most  lives, 
though  their  stream  is  loaded  with  sand  and 
turbid  with  alluvial  waste,  drop  a  few  golden 
grains  of  wisdom  as  they  flow  along.  Often 
times  a  single  cradling  gets  them  all,  and 
after  that  the  poor  man's  labor  is  only  .re 
warded  by  mud  and  worn  pebbles.  All 
which  proves  that  I,  as  an  individual  of  the 
human  family,  could  write  one  novel  or  story 
at  any  rate,  if  I  would. 

-  Why  don't  I,  then?—  Well,  there  are 
several  reasons  against  it.    In  the  first  place, 


82  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

I  should  tell  all  my  secrets,  and  I  maintain 
that  verse  is  the  proper  medium  for  such 
revelations.  Rhythm  and  rhyme  and  the 
harmonies  of  musical  language,  the  play  of 
fancy,  the  fire  of  imagination,  the  flashes  of 
passion,  so  hide  the  nakedness  of  a  heart 
laid  open,  that  hardly  any  confession,  trans 
figured  in  the  luminous  halo  of  poetry,  is 
reproached  as  self  -  exposure.  A  beauty 
shows  herself  under  the  chandeliers,  pro 
tected  by  the  glitter  of  her  diamonds,  with 
such  a  broad  snow-drift  of  white  arms  and 
shoulders  laid  bare,  that,  were  she  unadorned 
and  in  plain  calico,  she  would  be  unendura 
ble  —  in  the  opinion  of  the  ladies. 

Again,  I  am  terribly  afraid  I  should  show 
up  all  my  friends.  I  should  like  to  know  if 
all  story-tellers  do  not  do  this  ?  Now  I  am 
afraid  all  my  friends  would  not  bear  show 
ing  up  very  well ;  for  they  have  an  average 
share  of  the  common  weakness  of  humanity, 
which  I  am  pretty  certain  would  come  out. 
Of  all  that  have  told  stories  among  us  there 
is  hardly  one  I  can  recall  who  has  not  drawn 
too  faithfully  some  living  portrait  which 
might  better  have  been  spared. 

Once  more,  I  have  sometimes  thought  it 
possible  I  might  be  too  dull  to  write  such  a 
story  as  I  should  wish  to  write. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  83 

And  finally,  I  think  it  very  likely  I  shall 
write  a  story  one  of  these  days.  Don't  be 
surprised  at  any  time,  if  you  see  me  coming 
out  with  "  The  Schoolmistress,"  or  "  The 
Old  Gentleman  Opposite."  [Our  school- 
mistre^s  and  our  old  gentleman  that  sits 
opposite  had  left  the  table  before  I  said 
this.]  I  want  my  glory  for  writing  the  same 
discounted  now,  on  the  spot,  if  you  please. 
I  will  write  when  I  get  ready.  How  many 
people  live  on  the  reputation  of  the  reputa 
tion  they  might  have  made  ! 

—  I  saw  you  smiled  when  I  spoke  about 
the  possibility  of  my  being  too  dull  to  write 
a  good  story.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what 
you  meant  by  it,  but  I  take  occasion  to  make 
a  remark  which  may  hereafter  prove  of  value 
to  some  among  you.  —  When  one  of  us  who 
has  been  led  by  native  vanity  or  senseless 
flattery  to  think  himself  or  herself  possessed 
of  talent  arrives  at  the  full  and  final  conclu 
sion  that  he  or  she  is  really  dull,  it  is  one  of 
the  most  tranquillizing  and  blessed  convic 
tions  that  can  enter  a  mortal's  mind.  All 
our  failures,  our  short-comings,  our  strange 
disappointments  in  the  effect  of  our  efforts 
are  lifted  from  our  bruised  shoulders,  and 
fall,  like  Christian's  pack,  at  the  feet  of  that 
Omnipotence  which  has  seen  fit  to  deny  us 


84  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

the  pleasant  gift  of  high  intelligence,  — 
with  which  one  look  may  overflow  us  in  some 
wider  sphere  of  being. 

—  How  sweetly  and  honestly  one  said  to 
me  the  other  day,  "  I  hate  books !  "  A  gen 
tleman,  —  singularly  free  from  affectations, 
—  not  learned,  of  course,  but  of  perfect 
breeding,  which  is  often  so  much  better  than 
learning,  —  by  no  means  dull,  in  the  sense  of 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  society,  but  cer 
tainly  not  clever  either  in  the  arts  or  sciences, 
-  his  company  is  pleasing  to  all  who  know 
him.  I  did  not  recognize  in  him  inferiority 
of  literary  taste  half  so  distinctly  as  I  did 
simplicity  of  character  and  fearless  acknow 
ledgment  of  his  inaptitude  for  scholarship. 
In  fact,  I  think  there  are  a  great  many  gen 
tlemen  and  others,  who  read  with  a  mark  to 
keep  their  place,  that  really  "  hate  books," 
but  never  had  the  wit  to  find  it  out,  or  the 
manliness  to  own  it.  \Entre  nous,  I  always 
read  with  a  mark.] 

We  get  into  a  way  of  thinking  as  if  what 
we  call  an  "  intellectual  man "  was,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  made  up  of  nine  tenths,  or 
thereabouts,  of  book-learning,  and  one  tenth 
himself.  But  even  if  he  is  actually  so  com 
pounded,  he  need  not  read  much.  Society 
is  a  strong  solution  of  books.  It  draws  the 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  85 

virtue  out  of  what  is  best  worth  reading,  as 
hot  water  draws  the  strength  of  tea-leaves. 
If  I  were  a  prince,  I  would  hire  or  buy  a 
private  literary  tea-pot,  in  which  I  would 
steep  all  the  leaves  of  new  books  that  prom 
ised  well.  The  infusion  would  do  for  me 
without  the  vegetable  fibre.  You  under 
stand  me  ;  I  would  have  a  person  whose  sole 
business  should  be  to  read  day  and  night, 
and  talk  to  me  whenever  I  wanted  him  to. 
I  know  the  man  I  would  have :  a  quick- 
v/itted,  out-spoken,  incisive  fellow ;  knows  his 
tory,  or  at  any  rate  has  a  shelf  full  of  books 
about  it,  which  he  can  use  handily,  and  the 
same  of  all  useful  arts  and  sciences ;  knows 
all  the  common  plots  of  plays  and  novels,  and 
the  stock  company  of  characters  that  are  con 
tinually  coming  on  in  new  costume ;  can  give 
you  a  criticism  of  an  octavo  in  an  epithet 
and  a  wink,  and  you  can  depend  on  it ;  cares 
for  nobody  except  for  the  virtue  there  is  in 
what  he  says  ;  delights  in  taking  off  big 
wigs  and  professional  gowns,  and  in  the  dis- 
embalming  and  unbandaging  of  all  literary 
mummies.  Yet  he  is  as  tender  and  rever 
ential  to  all  that  bears  the  mark  of  genius, 

—  that  is,  of  a  new  influx  of  truth  or  beauty, 

—  as  a  nun  over  her  missal.     In  short,  he  is 
one  of  those  men  that  know  everything  ex- 


86  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

cept  how  to  make  a  living.  Him  would  1 
keep  on  the  square  next  my  own  royal  com 
partment  on  life's  chessboard.  To  him  I 
would  push  up  another  pawn,  in  the  shape 
of  a  comely  and  wise  young  woman,  whom 
he  would  of  course  take,  —  to  wife.  For  all 
contingencies  I  would  liberally  provide.  In 
a  word,  I  would,  in  the  plebeian,  but  expres 
sive  phrase,  "  put  him  through  "  all  the  ma 
terial  part  of  life  ;  see  him  sheltered,  warmed, 
fed,  button-mended,  and  all  that,  just  to  be 
able  to  lay  on  his  talk  when  I  liked,  —  with 
the  privilege  of  shutting  it  off  at  will. 

A  Club  is  the  next  best  thing  to  this, 
strung  like  a  harp,  with  about  a  dozen  ring 
ing  intelligences,1  each  answering  to  some 
chord  of  the  macrocosm.  They  do  well  to 
dine  together  once  in  a  while.  A  dinner 
party  made  tip  of  such  elements  is  the  last 
triumph  of  civilization  over  barbarism.  Na 
ture  and  art  combine  to  charm  the  senses ; 
the  equatorial  zone  of  the  system  is  soothed 
by  well-studied  artifices  ;  the  faculties  are  off 
duty,  and  fall  into  their  natural  attitudes ; 

1  The  " Saturday  Club,"  before  referred  to,  answered 
as  well  to  this  description  as  some  others  better  known  to 
history.  Mathematics,  music,  art,  the  physical  and  bio 
logical  sciences,  history,  philosophy,  poetry,  and  other 
branches  of  imaginative  literature  were  all  represented  by 
masters  in  their  .several  realms. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  87 

yon  see  wisdom  in  slippers  and  science  in  a 
short  jacket. 

The  whole  force  of  conversation  depends 
on  how  much  you  can  take  for  granted. 
Vulgar  chess-players  have  to  play  their  game 
out ;  nothing  short  of  the  brutality  of  an 
actual  checkmate  satisfies  their  dull  appre 
hensions.  But  look  at  two  masters  of  that 
noble  game !  White  stands  well  enough,  so 
far  as  you  can  see ;  but  Red  says,  Mate  in 
six  moves  ;  —  White  looks,  —  nods ;  —  the 
game  is  over.  Just  so  in  talking  with  first- 
rate  men ;  especially  when  they  are  good- 
natured  and  expansive,  as  they  are  apt  to  be 
at  table.  That  blessed  clairvoyance  which 
sees  into  things  without  opening  them,  — 
that  glorious  license,  which,  having  shut  the 
door  and  driven  the  reporter  from  its  key 
hole,  calls  upon  Truth,  majestic  virgin  !  to 
get  down  from  her  pedestal  and  drop  her 
academic  poses,  and  take  a  festive  garland 
and  the  vacant  place  on  the  medius  lectus, 
—  that  carnival-shower  of  questions  and  re 
plies  and  comments,  large  axioms  bowled 
over  the  mahogany  like  bomb  -  shells  from 
professional  mortars,  and  explosive  wit  drop 
ping  its  trains  of  many-colored  fire,  and  the 
mischief -making  rain  of  bon-bons  pelting 
everybody  that  shows  himself,  —  the  picture 


88  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

of  a  truly  intellectual  banquet  is  one  which 
the  old  Divinities  might  well  have  attempted 
to  reproduce  in  their  — 

—  "  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  cried  the  young  fellow 
whom  they  call  John,  —  "  that  is  from  one 
of  your  lectures !  " 

I  know  it,  I  replied,  —  I  concede  it,  I 
confess  it,  proclaim  it. 

"  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  them  all !  " 

All  lecturers,  all  professors,  all  schoolmas 
ters,  have  ruts  and  grooves  in  their  minds 
into  which  their  conversation  is  perpetually 
sliding.  Did  you  never,  in  riding  through 
the  woods  of  a  still  June  evening,  suddenly 
feel  that  you  had  passed  into  a  warm  stra 
tum  of  air,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  strike 
the  chill  layer  of  atmosphere  beyond  ?  Did 
you  never,  in  cleaving  the  green  waters  of 
the  Back  Bay,  —  where  the  Provincial  blue- 
noses  are  in  the  habit  of  beating  the  "  Met 
ropolitan  "  boat-clubs,  —  find  yourself  in  a 
tepid  streak,  a  narrow,  local  gulf -stream,  a 
gratuitous  warm -bath  a  little  underdone, 
through  which  your  glistening  shoulders 
soon  flashed,  to  bring  you  back  to  the  cold 
realities  of  full-sea  temperature  ?  Just  so, 
in  talking  with  any  of  the  characters  above 
referred  to,  one  not  unfrequently  finds  a 
sudden  change  in  the  style  of  the  conversa- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  89 

tion.  The  lack-lustre  eye,  rayless  as  a  Bea 
con-Street  door-plate  in  August,  all  at  once 
fills  with  light ;  the  face  flings  itself  wide 
open  like  the  church-portals  when  the  bride 
and  bridegroom  enter  ;  the  little  man  grows 
in  stature  before  your  eyes,  like  the  small 
prisoner  with  hair  on  end,  beloved  yet 
dreaded  of  early  childhood ;  you  were  talk 
ing  with  a  dwarf  and  an  imbecile,  —  you 
have  a  giant  and  a  trumpet-tongued  angel 
before  you !  —  Nothing  but  a  streak  out  of 
a  fifty-dollar  lecture.  —  As  when,  at  some 
unlooked-for  moment,  the  mighty  fountain- 
column  springs  into  the  air  before  the  as 
tonished  passer-by,  —  silver-footed,  diamond- 
crowned,  rainbow-scarfed,  —  from  the  bosom 
of  that  fair  sheet,  sacred  to  the  hymns  of 
quiet  batrachians  at  home,  and  the  epigrams 
of  a  less  amiable  and  less  elevated  order  of 
reptilia  in  other  latitudes. 

—  Who  was  that  person  that  was  so 
abused  some  time  since  for  saying  that  in 
the  conflict  of  two  races  our  sympathies 
naturally  go  with  the  higher?  No  matter 
who  he  was.  Now  look  at  what  is  going  on 
in  India,  — a  white,  superior  "  Caucasian  " 
race,  against  a  dark-skinned,  inferior,  but 
still  "  Caucasian  "  race,  —  and  where  are 
English  and  American  sympathies?  We 


90  TI}E  AUTOCRAT  OF 

can't  stop  to  settle  all  the  doubtful  ques 
tions  ;  all  we  know  is,  that  the  brute  nature 
is  sure  to  come  out  most  strongly  in  the 
lower  race,  and  it  is  the  general  law  that 
the  human  side  of  humanity  should  treat  the 
brutal  side  as  it  does  the  same  nature  in 
the  inferior  animals,  —  tame  it  or  crush  it. 
The  India  mail  brings  stories  of  women  and 
children  outraged  and  murdered ;  the  royal 
stronghold  is  in  the  hands  of  the  babe-kill 
ers.  England  takes  down  the  Map  of  the 
World,  which  she  has  girdled  with  empire, 
and  makes  a  correction  thus  :  DELHI.  Dele. 
The  civilized  world  says,  Amen. 

—  Do  not  think,  because  I  talk  to  you  of 
many  subjects  briefly,  that  I  should  not  find 
it  much  lazier  work  to  take  each  one  of 
them  and  dilute  it  down  to  an  essay.  Bor 
row  some  of  my  old  college  themes  and  wa 
ter  my  remarks  to  suit  yourselves,  as  the 
Homeric  heroes  did  with  their  melas  oinos. 
—  that  black,  sweet,  syrupy  wine  which 
they  used  to  alloy  with  three  parts  or  more 
of  the  flowing  stream.  [Could  it  have  been 
melasses,  as  Webster  and  his  provincials 
spell  it,  —  or  Molossds,  as  dear  old  smat 
tering,  chattering,  would  -  be-College-Presi- 
dent,  Cotton  Mather,  has  it  in  the  "  Magna- 
lia"  ?  Ponder  thereon,  ye  small  antiquaries 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  91 

who  make  barn-door-fowl  flights  of  learning 
in  "  Notes  and  Queries !  "  —  ye  Historical 
Societies,  in  one  of  whose  venerable  triremes 
I,  too,  ascend  the  stream  of  time,  while  other 
hands  tug  at  the  oars  !  —  ye  Amines  of  par 
asitical  literature,  who  pick  up  your  grains 
of  native-grown  food  with  a  bodkin,  having 
gorged  upon  less  honest  fare,  until,  like  the 
great  minds  Goethe  speaks  of,  you  have 
"  made  a  Golgotha  "  of  your  pages  I  —  pon 
der  thereon !] 

—  Before  you  go,  this  morning,  I  want  to 
read  you  a  copy  of  verses.  You  will  under 
stand  by  the  title  that  they  are  written  in 
an  imaginary  character.  I  don't  doubt 
they  will  fit  some  family-man  well  enough. 
I  send  it  forth  as  "  Oak  Hall "  projects  a 
coat,  on  a  priori  grounds  of  conviction  that 
it  will  suit  somebody.  There  is  no  loftier 
illustration  of  faith  than  this.  It  believes 
that  a  soul  has  been  clad  in  flesh ;  that  ten 
der  parents  have  fed  and  nurtured  it ;  that 
its  mysterious  compages  or  frame-work  has 
survived  its  myriad  exposures  and  reached 
the  stature  of  maturity ;  that  the  Man,  now 
self-determining,  has  given  in  his  adhesion 
to  the  traditions  and  habits  of  the  race  in 
favor  of  artificial  clothing ;  that  he  will, 
having  all  the  world  to  choose  from,  select 


92  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

the  very  locality  where  this  audacious  gen 
eralization  has  been  acted  upon.  It  builds 
a  garment  cut  to  the  pattern  of  an  Idea,  and 
trusts  that  Nature  will  model  a  material 
shape  to  fit  it.  There  is  a  prophecy  in 
every  seam,  and  its  pockets  are  full  of  in 
spiration.  —  Now  hear  the  verses. 

THE  OLD  MAN  DREAMS. 

0  for  one  hour  of  youthful  joy ! 
Give  back  my  twentieth  spring  ! 

1  'd  rather  laugh  a  bright-haired  boy 

Than  reign  a  gray-beard  king  ! 

Off  with  the  wrinkled  spoils  of  age  ! 

Away  with  learning's  crown  ! 
Tear  out  life's  wisdom-written  page, 

And  dash  its  trophies  down  ! 

One  moment  let  my  life-blood  stream 
From  boyhood's  fount  of  flame  ! 

Give  me  one  giddy,  reeling  dream 
Of  life  all  love  and  fame  ! 

—  My  listening  angel  heard  the  prayer. 
And  calmly  smiling,  said, 

' '  If  I  but  touch  thy  silvered  hair, 
Thy  hasty  wish  hath  sped. 

"  But  is  there  nothing  in  thy  track 

To  bid  thee  fondly  stay, 
While  the  swift  seasons  hurry  back 
To  find  the  wished-for  day  ?  " 

—  Ah,  truest  soul  of  womankind  ! 
Without  thee,  what  were  life  ? 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE  93 

One  bliss  I  cannot  leave  behind  ' 
I  '11  take  —  my  —  precious  —  wife  I 

—  The  angel  took  a  sapphire  pen 

And  wrote  in  rainbow  dew, 
"  The  man  would  be  a  boy  again, 
And  be  a  husband  too !  " 

— "  And  is  there  nothing  yet  unsaid 

Before  the  change  appears  ? 
Remember,  all  their  gifts  have  fled 

With  those  dissolving  years  !  " 

Why,  yes  ;  for  memory  would  recall 

My  fond  paternal  joys ; 
I  could  not  bear  to  leave  them  all ; 

I  '11  take  —  my  —  girl  —  and  —  boys ! 

The  smiling  angel  dropped  his  pen,  — 

"  Why  this  will  never  do  ; 
The  man  would  be  a  boy  again, 

And  be  a  father  too  !  " 

And  so  I  laughed,  —  my  laughter  woke 

The  household  with  its  noise,  — 
And  wrote  my  dream,  when  morning  broke 

To  please  the  gray-haired  boys. 


IV. 

[I  AM  so  well  pleased  with  my  boarding- 
house  that  I  intend  to  remain  there,  perhaps 
for  years.  Of  course  I  shall  have  a  great 
many  conversations  to  report,  and  they  will 
necessarily  be  of  different  tone  and  on  dif- 


94  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

ferent  subjects.  The  talks  are  like  the 
breakfasts,  —  sometimes  dipped  toast,  and 
sometimes  dry.  You  must  take  them  as  they 
come.  How  can  I  do  what  all  these  letters 
ask  me  to  ? l  No.  1.  wants  serious  and  ear- 

1  The  letters  received  by  authors  from  unknown  corre 
spondents  form  a  curious  and,  I  believe,  almost  unre 
corded  branch  of  literature.  The  most  interesting1  fact 
connected  with  these  letters  is  this.  If  a  writer  has  a 
distinct  personality  of  character,  an  intellectual  flavor 
peculiarly  his  own,  and  his  writing's  are  somewhat  widely 
spread  abroad,  he  will  meet  with  some,  and  it  may  be 
many,  readers  who  are  specially  attracted  to  him  by  a 
certain  singularly  strong1  affinity.  A  writer  need  not  be 
surprised  when  some  simple-hearted  creature,  evidently 
perfectly  sincere,  with  no  poem  or  story  in  the  back 
ground  for  which  he  or  she  wants  your  critical  offices, 
meaning  too  Jrequently  your  praise,  and  nothing  else,  — 
when  this  kind  soul  assures  him  or  her  that  he  or  she,  the 
correspondent,  loves  to  read  the  productions  of  him  or 
her,  the  writer,  better  than  those  of  any  other  author 
living  or  dead.  There  is  no  need  of  accounting  for  their 
individual  preferences.  What  if  a  reader  prefer  you  to 
the  classics,  whose  words  are  resounding  through  "  the 
corridors  of  time!  "  You  probably  come  much  nearer 
to  his  intellectual  level.  The  rose  is  the  sweetest  growth 
of  the  garden,  but  shall  not  your  harmless,  necessary  cat 
prefer  the  aroma  of  that  antiquely  odorous  valerian,  not 
unfamiliar  to  hysteric  womanhood  ?  "  How  can  we  stand 
the  fine  things  that  are  said  of  us  ?  "  asked  one  of  a 
bright  New  Englander,  whom  New  York  has  borrowed 
from  us.  "  Because  we  feel  that  they  are  true,"  he  an 
swered.  At  any  rate  if  they  are  true  for  those  who  say 
them,  we  need  not  quarrel  with  their  superlatives. 

But  what  revelations  are  to  be  read  in  these  letters ! 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  95 

nest  thought.  No.  2.  (letter  smells  of  bad 
cigars)  must  have  more  jokes  ;  wants  me  to 
tell  a  "  good  storey "  which  he  has  copied 
out  for  me.  (I  suppose  two  letters  before 
the  word  "  good "  refer  to  some  Doctor  of 
Divinity  who  told  the  story.)  No.  3.  (in 
female  hand)  —  more  poetry.  No.  4.  wants 
something  that  would  be  of  use  to  a  prac 
tical  man.  (Prahctical  malm  he  probably 
pronounces  it.)  No.  5.  (gilt-edged,  sweet- 
scented)  —  "  more  sentiment,"  —  ht  heart's 
outpourings."  — 

My  dear  friends,  one  and  all,  I  can  do 
nothing  but  report  such  remarks  as  I  hap 
pen  to  have  made  at  our  breakfast-table. 
Their  character  will  depend  on  many  acci 
dents,  —  a  good  deal  on  the  particular  per 
sons  in  the  company  to  whom  they  were 
addressed.  It  so  happens  that  those  which 
follow  were  mainly  intended  for  the  divinity- 
student  and  the  schoolmistress;  though  oth- 

From  the  lisp  of  vanity,  commending  itself  to  the  atten 
tion  of  the  object  of  its  admiration,  to  the  cry  of  despair, 
which  means  insanity  or  death,  if  a  wise  word  of  counsel 
or  a  helping  hand  does  not  stay  it,  what  a  gamut  of  hu 
man  utterances!  Each  individual  writer  feels  as  if  he 
or  she  were  the  only  one  to  be  listened  to  and  succored, 
little  remembering  that  merely  to  acknowledge  the  re 
ceipt  of  the  letters  that  come  by  every  post  is  no  small 
part  of  every  day's  occupation  to  a  good-natured  and 
moderately  popular  writer. 


96  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

ers  whom  I  need  not  mention  saw  fit  to  in 
terfere,  with  more  or  less  propriety,  in  the 
conversation.  This  is  one  of  my  privileges 
as  a  talker ;  and  of  course,  when  I  was  not 
talking  for  our  whole  company  I  don't  expect 
all  the  readers  of  this  periodical  to  be  inter 
ested  in  my  notes  of  what  was  said.  Still, 
I  think  there  may  be  a  few  that  will  rather 
like  this  vein,  —  possibly  prefer  it  to  a  live 
lier  one,  —  serious  young  men,  and  young 
women  generally,  in  life's  roseate  parenthe 
sis  from years  of  age  to inclusive .. 

Another  privilege  of  talking  is  to  mis 
quote.  —  Of  course  it  was  n't  Proserpina 
that  actually  cut  the  yellow  hair,  —  but  Iris. 
(As  I  have  since  told  you)  it  was  the 
former  lady's  regular  business,  but  Dido  had 
used  herself  ungenteelly,  and  Madame  d'En- 
fer  stood  firm  on  the  point  of  etiquette.  So 
the  bathycolpian  Here,  —  Juno,  in  Latin,  — 
sent  down  Iris  instead.  But  I  was  mightily 
pleased  to  see  that  one  of  the  gentlemen 
that  do  the  heavy  articles  for  the  celebrated 
"  Oceanic  Miscellany  "  misquoted  Camp 
bell's  line  without  any  excuse.  "  Waft  us 
home  the  message  "  of  course  it  ought  to  be. 
Will  he  be  duly  grateful  for  the  correction  ?] 

—  The  more  we  study  the  body  and  the 
mind,  the  more  we  find  both  to  be  governed, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  97 

not  fo/,  but  according  to  laws,  such  as  we 
observe  in  the  larger  universe.  —  You  think 
you  know  all  about  walking,  —  don't  you, 
now  ?  Well,  how  do  you  suppose  your  lower 
limbs  are  held  to  your  body  ?  They  are 
sucked  up  by  two  cupping  vessels  (  "  coty- 
loid  "  —  cup-like  —  cavities),  and  held  there 
as  long  as  you  live,  and  longer.  At  any 
rate,  you  think  you  move  them  backward 
and  forward  at  such  a  rate  as  your  will  de 
termines,  don't  you  ?  On  the  contrary,  they 
swing  just  as  any  other  pendulums  swing, 
at  a  fixed  rate,  determined  by  their  length. 
You  can  alter  this  by  muscular  power,  as 
you  can  take  hold  of  the  pendulum  of  a 
clock  and  make  it  move  faster  or  slower; 
but  your  ordinary  gait  is  timed  by  the  same 
mechanism  as  the  movements  of  the  solar 
system. 

[My  friend,  the  Professor,  told  me  all 
this,  referring  me  to  certain  German  physi 
ologists  by  the  name  of  Weber  for  proof  of 
the  facts,  which,  however,  he  said  he  had 
often  verified.  I  appropriated  it  to  my  own 
use ;  what  can  one  do  better  than  this,  when 
one  has  a  friend  that  tells  him  anything 
worth  remembering  ? 

The  Professor  seems  to  think  that  man 
and  the  general  powers  of  the  universe  are 


98  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

in  partnership.  Some  one  was  saying  that 
it  had  cost  nearly  half  a  million  to  move  the 
Leviathan  l  only  so  far  as  they  had  got  it 
already.  —  Why,  —  said  the  Professor,  — 
they  might  have  hired  an  EAKTHQUAKE  for 
less  money  !] 

Just  as  we  find  a  mathematical  rule  at  the 
bottom  of  many  of  the  bodily  movements, 
just  so  thought  may  be  supposed  to  have  its 
regular  cycles.  Such  or  such  a  thought 
comes  round  periodically,  in  its  turn.  Acci 
dental  suggestions,  however,  so  far  interfere 
with  the  regular  cycles,  that  we  may  find 
them  practically  beyond  our  power  of  recog 
nition.  Take  all  this  for  what  it  is  worth, 
but  at  any  rate  you  will  agree  that  there  are 
certain  particular  thoughts  which  do  not 
come  up  once  a  day,  nor  once  a  week,  but 
that  a  year  would  hardly  go  round  without 
your  having  them  pass  through  your  mind. 
Here  is  one  which  comes  up  at  intervals  in 
this  way.  Some  one  speaks  of  it,  and  there 
is  an  instant  and  eager  smile  of  assent  in  the 

"  The  Leviathan  "  was  the  name  first  applied  to  the 
huge  vessel  afterwards  known  as  the  '*  Great  Eastern." 
The  trouble  which  rose  from  its  being1  built  out  of  its 
"  native  element,"  as  the  newspapers  call  it,  was  like  the 
puzzle  of  the  Primrose  household  after  the  great  family 
picture,  with  "  as  many  sheep  as  the  painter  could  put  in 
for  nothing1,"  was  finished. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  99 

listener  or  listeners.  Yes,  indeed  ;  they 
have  often  been  struck  by  it. 

All  at  once  a  conviction  flashes  through 
us  that  we  have  been  in  the  same  precise 
circumstances  as  at  the  present  instant,  once 
or  many  times  before. 

O,  dear,  yes  !  —  said  one  o£  the  company, 
—  everybody  has  had  that  feeling. 

The  landlady  did  n't  know  anything  about 
such  notions ;  it  was  an  idee  in  folks'  heads, 
she  expected. 

The  schoolmistress  said,  in  a  hesitating 
sort  of  way,  that  she  knew  the  feeling  well, 
and  didn't  like  to  experience  it;  it  made 
her  think  she  was  a  ghost,  sometimes. 

The  young  fellow  whom  they  call  John 
said  he  knew  all  about  it;  he  had  just 
lighted  a  cheroot  the  other  day,  when  a  tre 
mendous  conviction  all  at  once  came  over 
him  that  he  had  done  just  that  same  thing 
ever  so  many  times  before.  I  looked  se 
verely  at  him,  and  his  countenance  immedi 
ately  fell  —  on  the  side  toward  me  ;  I  can 
not  answer  for  the  other,  for  he  can  wink 
and  laugh  with  either  half  of  his  face  with 
out  the  other  half's  knowing  it. 

—  I  have  noticed  —  I  went  on  to  say  — 
the  following  circumstances  connected  with 
these  sudden  impressions.  First,  that  the 


100  THE  AUTOCRAT   OF 

condition  which  seems  to  be  the  duplicate 
of  a  former  one  is  often  very  trivial,  —  one 
that  might  have  presented  itself  a  hundred 
times.  Secondly,  that  the  impression  is  very 
evanescent,  and  that  it  is  rarely,  if  ever,  re 
called  by  any  voluntary  effort,  at  least  after 
any  time  has  elapsed.  Thirdly,  that  there  is 
a  disinclination  to  record  the  circumstances, 
and  a  sense  of  incapacity  to  reproduce  the 
state  of  mind  in  words.  Fourthly,  I  have 
often  felt  that  the  duplicate  condition  had 
not  only  occurred  once  before,  but  that  it 
was  familiar  and,  as  it  seemed,  habitual. 
Lastly,  I  have  had  the  same  convictions  in 
my  dreams. 

How  do  I  account  for  it  ?  —  Why,  there 
are  several  ways  that  I  can  mention,  and 
you  may  take  your  choice.  The  first  is  that 
which  the  young  lady  hinted  at ;  —  that 
these  flashes  are  sudden  recollections  of  a 
previous  existence.  I  don't  believe  that ; 
for  I  remember  a  poor  student  I  used  to 
know  told  me  he  had  such  a  conviction  one 
day  when  he  was  blacking  his  boots,  and  I 
can't  think  he  had  ever  lived  in  another 
world  where  they  use  Day  and  Martin. 

Some  think  that  Dr.  Wigan's  doctrine  of 
the  brain's  being  a  double  organ,  its  hemi 
spheres  working  together  like  the  two  eyes, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  101 

accounts  for  it.  One  of  the  hemispheres 
hangs  fire,  they  suppose,  and  the  small  in 
terval  between  the  perceptions  of  the  nimble 
and  the  sluggish  half  seems  an  indefinitely 
long  period,  and  therefore  the  second  per 
ception  appears  to  be  the  copy  of  another, 
ever  so  old.  But  even  allowing  the  centre 
of  perception  to  be  double,  I  can  see  no 
good  reason  for  supposing  this  indefinite 
lengthening  of  the  time,  nor  any  analogy 
that  bears  it  out.  It  seems  to  me  most 
likely  that  the  coincidence  of  circumstances 
is  very  partial,  but  that  we  take  this  partial 
resemblance  for  identity,  as  we  occasionally 
do  resemblances  of  persons.  A  momentary 
posture  of  circumstances  is  so  far  like  some 
preceding  one  that  we  accept  it  as  exactly 
the  same,  just  as  we  accost  a  stranger  occa 
sionally,  mistaking  him  for  a  friend.  The 
apparent  similarity  may  be  owing  perhaps, 
quite  as  much  to  the  mental  state  at  the 
time,  as  to  the  outward  circumstances. 

-  Here  is  another  of  these  curiously  re 
curring  remarks.  I  have  said  it,  and  heard 
it  many  times,  and  occasionally  met  with 
something  like  it  in  books,  —  somewhere  in 
Bulwer's  novels,  I  think,  and  in  one  of  the 
works  of  Mr.  Olmsted,  I  know. 

Memory,  imagination,  old  sentiments  and 


102  THE  AUTOCRAT   Uf 

associations,  are  more  readily  reached 
through  the  sense  of  SMELL  than  by  almost 
any  other  channel. 

Of  course  the  particular  odors  which  act 
upon  each  person's  susceptibilities  differ.  — 
O,  yes !  I  will  tell  you  some  of  mine.  The 
smell  of  phosphorus  is  one  of  them.  Dur 
ing  a  year  or  two  of  adolescence  I  used  to 
be  dabbling  in  chemistry  a  good  deal,  and 
as  about  that  time  I  had  my  little  aspira 
tions  and  passions  like  another,  some  of 
these  things  got  mixed  up  with  each  other : 
orange-colored  fumes  of  nitrous  acid,  and 
visions  as  bright  and  transient;  reddening 
litmus-paper,  and  blushing  cheeks  ;  —  eheu  ! 

"Soles  occidere  et  redire  possunt," 

but  there  is  no  reagent  that  will  redden  the 

faded  roses  of  eighteen  hundred  and 

spare  them !  But,  as  I  was  saying,  phos 
phorus  fires  this  train  of  associations  in  an 
instant ;  its  luminous  vapors  with  their  pen 
etrating  odor  throw  me  into  a  trance  ;  it 
comes  to  me  in  a  double  sense  "trailing 
clouds  of  glory."  Only  the  confounded 
Vienna  matches,  ohne  phosphor  geruch,  have 
worn  my  sensibilities  a  little. 

Then  there    is    the    'marigold.     When  I 
of    smallest    dimensions,   and  wont   to 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  103 

ride  impacted  between  the  knees  of  fond 
parental  pair,  we  would  sometimes  cross  the 
bridge  to  the  next  village-town  and  stop  op 
posite  a  low,  brown,  "  gambrel-roofed  "  cot 
tage.  Out  of  it  would  come  one  Sally, 
sister  of  its  swarthy  tenant,  swarthy  herself, 
shady-lipped,  sad-voiced,  and,  bending  over 
her  flower-bed,  would  gather  a  "posy,"  as 
she  called  it,  for  the  little  boy.  Sally  lies 
in  the  churchyard  with  a  slab  of  blue  slate 
at  her  head,  lichen-crusted,  and  leaning  a 
little  within  the  last  few  years.  Cottage, 
garden-beds,  posies,  grenadier-like  rows  of 
seedling  onions,  —  stateliest  of  vegetables, 
—  all  are  gone,  but  the  breath  of  a  mari 
gold  brings  them  all  back  to  me. 

Perhaps  the  herb  everlasting,  the  fragrant 
immortelle  of  our  autumn  fields,  has  the 
most  suggestive  odor  to  me  of  all  those  that 
set  me  dreaming.  I  can  hardly  describe 
the  strange  thoughts  and  emotions  which 
come  to  me  as  I  inhale  the  aroma  of  its 
pale,  dry,  rustling  flowers.  A  something  it 
has  of  sepulchral  spicery,  as  if  it  had  been 
brought  from  the  core  of  some  great  pyra 
mid,  where  it  had  lain  on  the  breast  of  a 
mummied  Pharaoh.  Something,  too,  of  im 
mortality  in  the  sad,  faint  sweetness  lingering 
so  long  in  its  lifeless  petals.  Yet  this  does 


104  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

not  tell  why  it  fills  my  eyes  with  tears  and 
carries  me  in  blissful  thought  to  the  banks 
of  asphodel  that  border  the  River  of  Life. 

—  I  should  not  have  talked  so  much  about 
these  personal  susceptibilities,  if  I  had  not  a 
remark  to  make  about  them  which  I  believe 
is  a  new  one.  It  is  this.  There  may  be  a 
physical  reason  for  the  strange  connection 
between  the  sense  of  smell  and  the  mind. 
The  olfactory  nerve,  —  so  my  friend,  the 
Professor,  tells  me,  —  is  the  only  one  directly 
connected  with  the  hemispheres  of  the  brain, 
the  parts  in  which,  as  we  have  every  reason 
to  believe,  the  intellectual  processes  are  per 
formed.  To  speak  more  truly,  the  olfactory 
"  nerve  "  is  not  a  nerve  at  all,  he  says,  but  a 
part  of  the  brain,  in  intimate  connection  with 
its  anterior  lobes.  Whether  this  anatomical 
arrangement  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  facts  I 
have  mentioned,  I  will  not  decide,  but  it  is 
curious  enough  to  be  worth  remembering. 
Contrast  the  sense  of  taste,  as  a  source  of 
suggestive  impressions,  with  that  of  smell. 
Now  the  Professor  assures  me  that  you  will 
find  the  nerve  of  taste  has  no  immediate  con 
nection  with  the  brain  proper,  but  only  with 
the  prolongation  of  the  spinal  cord. 

[The  old  gentleman  opposite  did  not  pay 
much  attention,  I  think,  to  this  hypothesis 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  105 

of  mine.  But  while  I  was  speaking  about 
the  sense  of  smell  he  nestled  about  in  his 
seat,  and  presently  succeeded  in  getting  out 
a  large  red  bandanna  handkerchief.  Then 
he  lurched  a  little  to  the  other  side,  and  after 
much  tribulation  at  last  extricated  an  ample 
round  snuff-box.  I  looked  as  he  opened  it 
and  felt  for  the  wonted  pugil.  Moist  rap 
pee,  and  a  Tonka-bean  lying  therein.  I 
made  the  manual  sign  understood  of  all 
mankind  that  use  the  precious  dust,  and 
presently  my  brain,  too,  responded  to  the 
long  unused  stimulus.  —  O  boys,  —  that 
were,  —  actual  papas  and  possible  grand 
papas,  —  some  of  you  with  crowns  like  bil 
liard-balls,  —  some  in  locks  of  sable  silvered, 
and  some  of  silver  sabled,  —  do  you  remem 
ber,  as  you  doze  over  this,  those  after-dinners 
at  the  Trois  Freres,  when  the  Scotch-plaided 
snuff-box  went  round,  and  the  dry  Lundy- 
Foot  tickled  its  way  along  into  our  happy 
sensoria  ?  Then  it  was  that  the  Chambertin 
or  the  Clos  Vougeot  came  in,  slumbering  in 
its  straw  cradle.  And  one  among  you,  — 
do  you  remember  how  he  would  sit  dream 
ing  over  his  Burgundy,  and  tinkle  his  fork 
against  the  sides  of  the  bubble-like  glass, 
saying  that  he  was  hearing  the  cow-bells  as 
he  used  to  hear  them,  when  the  deep-breath- 


106  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

ing  kine  came  home  at  twilight  from  the 
huckleberry  pasture,  in  the  old  home  a  thou 
sand  leagues  towards  the  sunset  ?] 

Ah  me !  what  strains  and  strophes  of  un 
written  verse  pulsate  through  my  soul  when 
I  open  a  certain  closet  in  the  ancient  house 
where  I  was  born !  On  its  shelves  used  to 
lie  bundles  of  sweet-marjoram  and  penny 
royal  and  lavender  and  mint  and  catnip ; 
there  apples  were  stored  until  their  seeds 
should  grow  black,  which  happy  period  there 
were  sharp  little  milk-teeth  always  ready  to 
anticipate;  there  peaches  lay  in  the  dark, 
thinking  of  the  sunshine  they  had  lost,  until, 
like  the  hearts  of  saints  who  dream  of  heaven 
in  their  sorrow,  they  grew  fragrant  as  the 
breath  of  angels.  The  odorous  echo  of  a 
score  of  dead  summers  lingers  yet  in  those 
dim  recesses. 

—  Do  I  remember  Byron's  line  about 
"  striking  the  electric  chain  "  ?  —  To  be  sure 
I  do.  I  sometimes  think  the  less  the  hint 
that  stirs  the  automatic  machinery  of  asso 
ciation,  the  more  easily  this  moves  us.  What 
can  be  more  trivial  than  that  old  story  of 
opening  the  folio  Shakspeare  that  used  to  lie 
in  some  ancient  English  hall  and  finding  the 
flakes  of  Christmas  pastry  between  its  leaves, 
shut  up  in  them  perhaps  a  hundred  years 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  107 

ago  ?  And,  lo  !  as  one  looks  on  these  poor 
relics  of  a  bygone  generation,  the  universe 
changes  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye ;  old 
George  the  Second  is  back  again,  and  the 
elder  Pitt  is  coming  into  power,  and  General 
Wolfe  is  a  fine,  promising  young  man,  and 
over  the  Channel  they  are  pulling  the  Sieur 
Damiens  to  pieces  with  wild  horses,  and 
across  the  Atlantic  the  Indians  are  toma 
hawking  Hirams  and  Jonathans  and  Jonases 
at  Fort  William  Henry  ;  all  the  dead  people 
who  have  been  in  the  dust  so  long  —  even  to 
the  stout-armed  cook  that  made  the  pastry 
—  are  alive  again ;  the  planet  unwinds  a 
hundred  of  its  luminous  coils,  and  the  pre 
cession  of  the  equinoxes  is  retraced  on  the 
dial  of  heaven  !  And  all  this  for  a  bit  of 
pie-crust ! 

—  I  will  thank  you  for  that  pie,  —  said 
the  provoking  young  fellow  whom  I  have 
named  repeatedly.     He  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment,  and  put  his  hands  to  his  eyes  as  if 
moved.  —  I  was  thinking,  —  he  said  indis 
tinctly  — 

—  How  ?     What  is  't  ?  —  said  our  land 
lady. 

—  I  was  thinking  —  said  he  —  who  was 
king   of    England  when    this   old   pie    was 
baked,  —  and  it  made  me  feel  bad  to  think 
how  long  he  must  have  been  dead. 


108  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

[Our  landlady  is  a  decent  body,  poor,  and 
a  widow  of  course  ;  cela  va  sans  dire.  She 
told  me  her  story  once  ;  it  was  as  if  a  grain 
of  corn  that  had  been  ground  and  bolted 
had  tried  to  individualize  itself  by  a  special 
narrative.  There  was  the  wooing  and  the 
wedding,  —  the  start  in  life,  —  the  disap 
pointment, —  the  children  she  had  buried, 
—  the  struggle  against  fate,  —  the  disman 
tling  of  life,  first  of  its  small  luxuries,  and 
then  of  its  comforts  —  the  broken  spirits,  — 
the  altered  character  of  the  one  on  whom 
she  leaned,  —  and  at  last  the  death  that 
came  and  drew  the  black  curtain  between 
her  and  all  her  earthly  hopes. 

I  never  laughed  at  my  landlady  after  she 
had  told  me  her  story,  but  I  often  cried,  — 
not  those  pattering  tears  that  run  off  the 
eaves  upon  our  neighbors'  grounds,  the  stil- 
licidium  of  self-conscious  sentiment,  but 
those  which  steal  noiselessly  through  their 
conduits  until  they  reach  the  cisterns  lying 
round  about  the  heart ;  those  tears  that  we 
weep  inwardly  with  unchanging  features  ;  — 
such  I  did  shed  for  her  often  when  the  imps 
of  the  boarding-house  Inferno  tugged  at  her 
soul  with  their  red-hot  pincers.] 

Young  man,  —  I  said  —  the  pasty  you 
speak  lightly  of  is  not  old,  but  courtesy  to 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  109 

those  who  labor  to  serve  us,  especially  if  they 
are  of  the  weaker  sex,  is  very  old,  and  yet 
well  worth  retaining.  May  I  recommend  to 
you  the  following  caution,  as  a  guide,  when 
ever  you  are  dealing  with  a  woman,  or  an 
artist,  or  a  poet,  —  if  you  are  handling  an 
editor  or  politician,  it  is  superfluous  advice. 
I  take  it  from  the  back  of  one  of  those  little 
French  toys  which  contain  pasteboard  figures 
moved  by  a  small  running  stream  of  fine 
sand ;  Benjamin  Franklin  will  translate  it 
for  you :  "  Quoiqu'elle  soit  tres  solidement 
montee,  il  faut  ne  pas  BRUTALISER  la  ma 
chine."  —  I  will  thank  you  for  the  pie,  if 
you  please. 

[I  took  more  of  it  than  was  good  for  me, 
—  as  much  as  85°,  I  should  think,  —  and 
had  an  indigestion  in  consequence.  While 
I  was  suffering  from  it,  I  wrote  some  sadly 
desponding  poems,  and  a  theological  essay 
which  took  a  very  melancholy  view  of  crea 
tion.  When  I  got  better  I  labelled  them  all 
"  Pie-crust,"  and  laid  them  by  as  scarecrows 
and  solemn  warnings.  I  have  a  number  of 
books  on  my  shelves  which  I  should  like  to 
label  with  some  such  title  ;  but,  as  they 
have  great  names  on  their  title  -  pages,  — 
Doctors  of  Divinity,  some  of  them,  —  it 
would  n't  do.] 


110  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

—  M^r  friend,  the  Professor,  whom  I  have 
mentioned  to  you  once  or  twice,  told  me  yes 
terday  that  somebody  had  been  abusing  him 
in  some  of  the  journals  of  his  calling.  I  told 
him  that  I  didn't  doubt  he  deserved  it; 
that  I  hoped  he  did  deserve  a  little  abuse 
occasionally,  and  would  for  a  number  of 
years  to  come  ;  that  nobody  could  do  any 
thing  to  make  his  neighbors  wiser  or  better 
without  being  liable  to  abuse  for  it ;  espe 
cially  that  people  hated  to  have  their  little 
mistakes  made  fun  of,  and  perhaps  he  had 
been  doing  something  of  the  kind.  —  -  The 
Professor  smiled.  —  Now,  said  I,  hear  what 
I  am  going  to  say.  It  will  not  take  many 
years  to  bring  you  to  the  period  of  life  when 
men,  at  least  the  majority  of  writing  and 
talking  men,  do  nothing  but  praise.  Men, 
like  peaches  and  pears,  grow  sweet  a  little 
while  before  they  begin  to  decay.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  —  whether  a  spontaneous 
change,  mental  or  bodily,  or  whether  it  is 
thorough  experience  of  the  thanklessness  of 
critical  honesty,  —  but  it  is  a  fact,  that  most 
writers,  except  sour  and  unsuccessful  ones, 
get  tired  of  finding  fault  at  about  the  time 
when  they  are  beginning  to  grow  old.  As  a 
general  thing,  I  would  not  give  a  great  deal 
for  the  fair  words  of  a  critic,  if  he  is  him- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE,  111 

self  an  author,  over  fifty  years  of  age.  At 
thirty  we  are  all  trying  to  cut  our  names  in 
big  letters  upon  the  walls  of  this  tenement 
of  life ;  twenty  years  later  we  have  carved 
it,  or  shut  up  our  jack-knives.  Then  we  are 
ready  to  help  others,  and  more  anxious  not 
to  hinder  any,  because  nobody's  elbows  are 
in  our  way.  So  I  am  glad  you  have  a  little 
life  left ;  you  will  be  saccharine  enough  in  a 
few  years. 

—  Some  of  the  softening  effects  of  ad 
vancing  age  have  struck  me  very  much  in 
what  I  have  heard  or  seen  here  and  else 
where.  I  just  now  spoke  of  the  sweetening 
process  that  authors  undergo.  Do  you  know 
that  in  the  gradual  passage  from  maturity 
to  helplessness  the  harshest  characters  some 
times  have  a  period  in  which  they  are  gentle 
and  placid  as  young  children  ?  I  have  heard 
it  said,  but  I  cannot  be  sponsor  for  its  truth, 
that  the  famous  chieftain,  Lochiel,  was 
rocked  in  a  cradle  like  a  baby,  in  his  old 
age.  An  old  man,  whose  studies  had  been 
of  the  severest  scholastic  kind,  used  to  love 
to  hear  little  nursery-stories  read  over  and 
over  to  him.  One  who  saw  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  in  his  last  years  describes  him 
as  very  gentle  in  his  aspect  and  demeanor. 
I  remember  a  person  of  singularly  stern  and 


112  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

lofty  bearing  who  became  remarkably  gra 
cious  and  easy  in  all  his  ways  in  the  later 
period  of  his  life. 

And  that  leads  me  to  say  that  men  often 
remind  me  of  pears  in  their  way  of  coming 
to  maturity.  Some  are  ripe  at  twenty,  like 
human  Jargonelles,  and  must  be  made  the 
most  of,  for  their  day  is  soon  over.  Some 
come  into  their  perfect  condition  late,  like 
the  autumn  kinds,  and  they  last  better  than 
the  summer  fruit.  And  some,  that,  like  the 
Winter-Nelis,  have  been  hard  and  uninvit 
ing  until  all  the  rest  have  had  their  season, 
get  their  glow  and  perfume  long  after  the 
frost  and  snow  have  done  their  worst  with 
the  orchards.  Beware  of  rash  criticisms  ; 
the  rough  and  astringent  fruit  you  condemn 
may  be  an  autumn  or  a  winter  pear,  and 
that  which  you  picked  up  beneath  the  same 
bough  in  August  may  have  been  only  its 
worm-eaten  windfalls.  Milton  was  a  Saint- 
Germain  with  a  graft  of  the  roseate  Early- 
Catherine.  Rich,  juicy,  lively,  fragrant, 
russet  skinned  old  Chaucer  was  an  Easter- 
Beurre ;  the  buds  of  a  new  summer  were 
swelling  when  he  ripened. 

-  There  is  110  power  I  envy  so  much,  — 
said  the  divinity-student,  —  as  that  of  seeing 
analogies  and  making  comparisons.  I  don't 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  113 

understand  how  it  is  that  some  minds  are 
continually  coupling  thoughts  or  objects  that 
seem  not  in  the  least  related  to  each  other, 
until  all  at  once  they  are  put  in  a  certain 
light  and  you  wonder  that  you  did  not  al 
ways  see  that  they  were  as  like  as  a  pair  of 
twins.  It  appears  to  me  a  sort  of  miracu 
lous  gift. 

[He  is  a  rather  nice  young  man,  and  I 
think  has  an  appreciation  of  the  higher 
mental  qualities  remarkable  for  one  of  his 
years  and  training.  I  try  his  head  occa 
sionally  as  housewives  try  eggs,  —  give  it 
an  intellectual  shake  and  hold  it  up  to  the 
light,  so  to  speak,  to  see  if  it  has  life  in  it, 
actual  or  potential,  or  only  contains  lifeless 
albumen.] 

You  call  it  miraculous,  —  I  replied,  — 
tossing  the  expression  with  my  facial  emi 
nence,  a  little  smartly,  I  fear.  —  Two  men 
are  walking  by  the  polyphloesboean  ocean, 
one  of  them  having  a  small  tin  cup  with 
which  he  can  scoop  up  a  gill  of  sea-water 
when  he  will,  and  the  other  nothing  but  his 
hands,  which  will  hardly  hold  water  at  all, 
—  and  you  call  the  tin  cup  a  miraculous 
possession  I  It  is  the  ocean  that  is  the  mir 
acle,  my  infant  apostle  !  Nothing  is  clearer 
than  that  all  things  are  in  all  things,  and 


114  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

that  just  according  to  the  intensity  and  ex= 
tension  of  our  mental  being  we  shall  see  the 
many  in  the  one  and  the  one  in  the  many. 
Did  Sir  Isaac  think  what  he  was  saying 
when  he  made  his  speech  about  the  ocean, 

—  the  child  and   the  pebbles,  you  know  ? 
Did  he  mean  to  speak  slightingly  of  a  peb 
ble  ?    Of  a  spherical  solid  which  stood  senti 
nel  over  its  compartment  of  space  before  the 
stone  that  became  the  pyramids  had  grown 
solid,   and    has   watched  it  until  now !     A 
body  which  knows  all  the  currents  of  force 
that  traverse  the  globe ;  which  holds  by  in 
visible  threads  to  the  ring  of  Saturn  and  the 
belt  of  Orion  !     A  body  from  the  contem 
plation  of  which  an  archangel  could    infer 
the  entire  inorganic  universe  as  the  simplest 
of  corollaries !     A  throne  of  the  all-pervad 
ing  Deity,  who  has  guided  its  every  atom 
since  the  rosary  of  heaven  was  strung  with 
beaded  stars ! 

So,  —  to  return  to  our  walk  by  the  ocean, 

—  if  all  that  poetry  has  dreamed,  all  that 
insanity  has  raved,  all  that  maddening  nar 
cotics  have    driven  through   the    brains  of 
men,  or    smothered  passion   nursed   in   the 
fancies  of  women,  —  if  the  dreams  of  col 
leges  and  convents  and  boarding-schools,  — 
if  every  human  feeling  that  sighs,  or  smiles, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  115 

or  curses,  or  shrieks,  or  groans,  should  bring 
all  their  innumerable  images,  such  as  come 
with  every  hurried  heart-beat,  —  the  epic 
which  held  them  all,  though  its  letters  filled 
the  zodiac,  would  be  but  a  cupful  from  the 
infinite  ocean  of  similitudes  and  analogies 
that  rolls  through  the  universe. 

[The  divinity-student  honored  himself  by 
the  way  in  which  he  received  this.  He  did 
not  swallow  it  at  once,  neither  did  he  reject 
it;  but  he  took  it  as  a  pickerel  takes  the 
bait,  and  carried  it  off  with  him  to  his  hole 
(in  the  fourth  story)  to  deal  with  at  his 
leisure.] 

—  Here  is  another  remark  made  for  his 
especial  benefit.  —  There  is  a  natural  ten 
dency  in  many  persons  to  run  their  adjec 
tives  together  in  triads,  as  I  have  heard 
them  called,  —  thus :  He  was  honorable, 
courteous,  and  brave ;  she  was  graceful, 
pleasing,  and  virtuous.  Dr.  Johnson  is 
famous  for  this ;  I  think  it  was  Bulwer 
who  said  you  could  separate  a  paper  in 
the  "  Rambler"  into  three  distinct  essays. 
Many  of  our  writers  show  the  same  ten 
dency,  —  my  friend,  the  Professor,  espe 
cially.  Some  think  it  is  in  humble  imita 
tion  of  Johnson,  —  some  that  it  is  for  the 
sake  of  the  stately  sound  only.  I  don't 


116  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

think  they  get  to  the  bottom  of  it.  It  is,  I 
suspect,  an  instinctive  and  involuntary  effort 
of  the  mind  to  present  a  thought  or  image 
with  the  three  dimensions  which  belong  to 
every  solid,  —  an  '  unconscious  handling  of 
an  idea  as  if  it  had  length,  breadth,  and 
thickness.  It  is  a  great  deal  easier  to  say 
this  than  to  prove  it,  and  a  great  deal  easier 
to  dispute  it  than  to  disprove  it.  But  mind 
this :  the  more  we  observe  and  study,  the 
wider  we  find  the  range  of  the  automatic 
and  instinctive  principles  in  body,  mind, 
and  morals,  and  the  narrower  the  limits  of 
the  self-determining  conscious  movement. 

—  I  have  often  seen  piano-forte  players 
and  singers  make  such  strange  motions  over 
their  instruments  or  song -books  that  I 
wanted  to  laugh  at  them.  "  Where  did  our 
friends  pick  up  all  these  fine  ecstatic  airs? " 
I  would  say  to  myself.  Then  I  would 
remember  My  Lady  in  "  Marriage  a  la 
Mode,"  and  amuse  myself  with  thinking 
how  affectation  was  the  same  thing  in  Ho 
garth's  time  and  in  our  own.  But  one  day 
I  bought  me  a  Canary-bird  and  hung  him 
up  in  a  cage  at  my  window.  By-and-by  he 
found  himself  at  home,  and  began  to  pipe 
his  little  tunes ;  and  there  he  was,  sure 
enough,  swimming  and  waving  about,  with 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  117 

all  the  droopings  and  liftings  and  languish 
ing  side-turnings  of  the  head  that  I  had 
laughed  at.  And  now  I  should  like  to  ask, 
WHO  taught  him  all  this  ?  —  and  me, 
through  him,  that  the  foolish  head  was  not 
the  one  swinging  itself  from  side  to  side 
and  bowing  and  nodding  over  the  music, 
lout  that  other  which  was  passing  its  shallow 
and  self-satisfied  judgment  on  a  creature 
made  of  finer  clay  than  the  frame  which 
carried  that  same  head  upon  its  shoulders  ? 

—  Do  you  want  an  image  of  the  human 
will  or  the   self  -  determining   principle,  as 
compared  with  its  pre-arranged  and  impas 
sable  restrictions  ?     A  drop   of  water,   im 
prisoned  in  a  crystal ;  you  may  see  such  a 
one   in   any  mineralogical  collection.     One 
little  fluid  particle  in  the  crystalline  prism 
of  the  solid  universe  ! 

—  Weaken  moral  obligations  ?  —  No,  not 
weaken  but  define  them.     When  I  preach 
that  sermon  I    spoke  of   the  other  day,   I 
shall  have  to  lay  down  some  principles  not 
fully  recognized  in  some  of  your  text-books. 

I  should  have  to  begin  with  one  most 
formidable  preliminary.  You  saw  an  arti 
cle  the  other  day  in  one  of  the  journals, 
perhaps,  in  which  some  old  Doctor  or  other 
said  quietly  that  patients  were  very  apt  to 


118  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

be  fools  and  cowards.  But  a  great  many  of 
the  clergyman's  patients  are  not  only  fools 
and  cowards,  but  also  liars. 

[Immense  sensation  at  the  table.  —  Sud 
den  retirement  of  the  angular  female  in 
oxydated  bombazine.  Movement  of  adhe 
sion  —  as  they  say  in  the  Chamber  of  Dep 
uties  —  on  the  part  of  the  young  fellow  they 
call  John.  Falling  of  the  old-gentleman- 
opposite's  lower  jaw  —  (gravitation  is  be 
ginning  to  get  the  better  of  him.)  Our 
landlady  to  Benjamin  Franklin,  briskly,  — 
Go  to  school  right  off,  there  's  a  good  boy ! 
Schoolmistress  -.curious,  —  takes  a  quick 
glance  at  divinity-student.  Divinity-student 
slightly  flushed ;  draws  his  shoidders  back 
a  little,  as  if  a  big  falsehood,  —  or  truth,  — 
had  hit  him  in  the  forehead.  Myself 
calm.] 

—  I  should  not  make  such  a  speech  as 
that,  you  know,  without  having  pretty  sub 
stantial  indorsers  to  fall  back  upon,  in  case 
my  credit  should  be  disputed.  Will  you 
run  up-stairs,  Benjamin  Franklin  (for  B. 
F.  had  not  gone  right  off,  of  course),  and 
bring  down  a  small  volume  from  the  left 
upper  corner  of  the  right-hand  shelves  ? 

[Look  at  the  precious  little  black,  ribbed 
backed,  clean-typed,  vellum  -  papered  32mo. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  119 

"DESIDERII  ERASMI  COLLOQUIA.  Amste- 
lodami.  Typis  Ludovici  Elzevirii.  1650." 
Various  names  written  on  title-page.  Most 
conspicuous  this :  Gul.  Cookeson,  E.  Coll. 
Omii.  Anim.  1725.  Oxoii. 

—  O  William  Cookeson,  of  All-Souls  Col 
lege,  Oxford,  — then  writing  as  I  now  write, 

—  now  in  the  dust,  where  I  shall  lie,  —  is 
this  line  all  that  remains  to  thee  of  earthly 
remembrance?     Thy  name  is  at  least  once 
more  spoken  by  living  men  ;  —  is  it  a  pleas 
ure  to  thee  ?     Thou  shalt  share  with  me  my 
little  draught  of  immortality,  —  its  week,  its 
month,   its  year,  —  whatever  it  may  be,  — 
arid -then  we  will  go  together  into  the  sol 
emn   archives   of   Oblivion's   Uncatalogued 
Library !] 

—  If  you  think  I  have  used  rather  strong 
language,  I  shall  have  to  read  something  to 
you  out  of  the  book  of  this  keen  and  witty 
scholar,  —  the  great  Erasmus,  —  who  "  laid 
the  egg  of  the  Reformation  which  Luther 
hatched."  Oh,  you  never  read  his  Naiifrar- 
gium,  or  "  Shipwreck,"  did  you?  Of  course 
not ;  for,  if  you  had,  I  don't  think  you 
would  have  given  me  credit,  —  or  discredit, 

—  for  entire    originality  in  that   speech  of 
mine.     That   men  are  cowards   in  the  con 
templation  of  futurity  he  illustrates  by  the 


120  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

extraordinary  antics  of  many  on  board  the 
sinking  vessel ;  that  they  are  fools,  by  their 
praying  to  the  sea,  and  making  promises  to 
bits  of  wood  from  the  true  cross,  and  all 
manner  of  similar  nonsense ;  that  they  are 
fools,  cowards,  and  liars  all  at  once,  by  this 
story :  I  will  put  it  into  rough  English  for 
you.  —  "I  could  n't  help  laughing  to  hear 
one  fellow  bawling  out,  so  that  he  might  be 
sure  to  be  heard,  a  promise  to  Saint  Chris 
topher  of  Paris,  —  the  monstrous  statue  in 
the  great  church  there,  —  that  he  would 
give  him  a  wax  taper  as  big  as  himself. 
4  Mind  what  you  promise  ! '  said  an  acquaint 
ance  who  stood  near  him,  poking  him  with 
his  elbow  ;  c  you  could  n't  pay  for  it,  if  you 
sold  all  your  things  at  auction.'  '  Hold  your 
tongue,  you  donkey  ! '  said  the  fellow,  —  but 
softly,  so  that  Saint  Christopher  should  not 
hear  him,  — 4  do  you  think  I  'm  in  earnest  ? 
If  I  once  get  my  foot  on  dry  ground,  catch 
me  giving  him  so  much  as  a  tallow  can 
dle  ! ' " 

Now,  therefore,  remembering  that  those 
who  have  been  loudest  in  their  talk  about 
the  great  subject  of  which  we  were  speak 
ing  have  not  necessarily  been  wise,  brave, 
and  true  men,  but,  on  the  contrary,  have 
very  often  been  wanting  in  one  or  two  or  all 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  121 

of  the  qualities  these  words  imply,  I  should 
expect  to  find  a  good  many  doctrines  cur 
rent  in  the  schools  which  I  should  be  obliged 
to  call  foolish,  cowardly,  and  false. 

—  So  you  would  abuse  other  people's  be 
liefs,    Sir,   and    yet   not   tell    us    your  own 
creed  !  —  said  the  divinity-student,  coloring 
up  with  a  spirit  for  which  I  liked  him  all 
the  better. 

—  I   have  a  creed,  —  I    replied  ;  —  none 
better,  and  none  shorter.     It  is  told  in  two 
words,  —  the  two   first  of  the  Paternoster. 
And  when  I  say  these  words  I  mean  them. 
And  when  I  compared  the  human  will  to  a 
drop  in  a  crystal,  and  said  I  meant  to  define 
moral  obligations,  and  not  weaken  them,  this 
was  what  I  intended  to  express:  that  the 
fluent,  self -determining  power  of  human  be 
ings  is  a  very  strictly  limited  agency  in  the 
universe.     The  chief  planes  of  its  enclosing 
solid  are,  of  course,  organization,  education, 
condition.      Organization   may    reduce    the 
power  of  the  will  to  nothing,  as  in  some 
idiots ;  and  from  this  zero  the  scale  mounts 
upwards  by  slight  gradations.     Education  is 
only  second  to  nature.     Imagine  all  the  in 
fants  born  this  year  in  Boston  and  Timbuc- 
too  to  change  places  !     Condition  does  less, 
but  "  Give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches  " 


122  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

was  the  prayer  of  Agur,  and  with  good  rea 
son.  If  there  is  any  improvement  in  mod 
ern  theology,  it  is  in  getting  out  of  the  re 
gion  of  pure  abstractions  and  taking  these 
every-day  working  forces  into  account.  The 
great  theological  question  now  heaving  and 
throbbing  in  the  minds  of  Christian  men  is 
this  :  - 

No,  I  won't  talk  about  these  things  now. 
My  remarks  might  be  repeated,  and  it  would 
give  my  friends  pain  to  see  with  what  per 
sonal  incivilities  I  should  be  visited.  Be 
sides,  what  business  has  a  mere  boarder  to 
be  talking  about  such  things  at  a  breakfast- 
table  ?  Let  him  make  puns.  To  be  sure, 
he  was  brought  up  among  the  Christian  fa 
thers,  and  learned  his  alphabet  out  of  a 
quarto  "  Concilium  Tridentinum."  He  has 
also  heard  many  thousand  theological  lec 
tures  by  men  of  various  denominations ;  and 
it  is  not  at  all  to  the  credit  of  these  teach 
ers,  if  he  is  not  fit  by  this  time  to  express 
an  opinion  on  theological  matters. 

I  know  well  enough  that  there  are  some 
of  you  who  had  a  great  deal  rather  see  me 
stand  on  my  head  than  use  it  for  any  pur 
pose  of  thought.  Does  not  my  friend,  the 
Professor,  receive  at  least  two  letters  a  week, 
requesting  him  to 


THE  BRtiAK  FAST-TABLE.  123 

.  .  .,  — on  the  strength  of  some  youthful 
antic  of  his,  which,  no  doubt,  authorizes  the 
intelligent  constituency  of  autograph-hunters 
to  address  him  as  a  harlequin  ? 

—  Well,  I  can't  be  savage  with  you  for 
wanting  to  laugh,  and  I  like  to  make  you 
laugh  well  enough,  when  I  can.  But  then  ob 
serve  this :  if  the  sense  of  the  ridiculous  is 
one  side  of  an  impressible  nature,  it  is  very 
well ;  but  if  that  is  all  there  is  in  a  man,  he 
had  better  have  been  an  ape  at  once,  and  so 
have  stood  at  the  head  of  his  profession. 
Laughter  and  tears  are  meant  to  turn  the 
wheels  of  the  same  machinery  of  sensibil 
ity  ;  one  is  wind-power,  and  the  other  water- 
power  ;  that  is  all.  I  have  often  heard  the 
Professor  talk  about  hysterics  as  being  Na 
ture's  cleverest  illustration  of  the  reciprocal 
convertibility  of  the  two  states  of  which  these 
acts  are  the  manifestations.  But  you  may  see 
it  every  day  in  children  ;  and  if  you  want 
to  choke  with  stifled  tears  at  sight  of  the 
transition,  as  it  shows  itself  in  older  years, 
go  and  see  Mr.  Blake  play  Jesse  Rural. 

It  is  a  very  dangerous  thing  for  a  literary 
man  to  indulge  his  love  for  the  ridiculous 
People  laugh  imth  him  just  so  long  as  he 
amuses  them ;  but  if  he  attempts  to  be  se 
rious,  they  must  still  have  their  laugh,  and 


124  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

so  they  laugh  at  him.  There  is  in  addition, 
however,  a  deeper  reason  for  this  than  would 
at  first  appear.  Do  you  know  that  you  feel 
a  little  superior  to  every  man  who  makes 
you  laugh,  whether  by  making  faces  or 
verses?  Are  you  aware  that  you  have  a 
pleasant  sense  of  patronizing  him,  when  you 
condescend  so  far  as  to  let  him  turn  somer 
sets,  literal  or  literary,  for  your  royal  de 
light  ?  Now  if  a  man  can  only  be  allowed 
to  stand  on  a  dais,  or  raised  platform,  and 
look  down  on  his  neighbor  who  is  exerting 
his  talent  for  him,  oh,  it  is  all  right !  —  first- 
rate  performance  !  —  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
fine  phrases.  But  if  all  at  once  the  per 
former  asks  the  gentleman  to  come  upon  the 
floor,  and,  stepping  upon  the  platform,  be 
gins  to  talk  down  at  him,  —  ah,  that  was  n't 
in  the  programme ! 

I  have  never  forgotten  what  happened 
when  Sydney  Smith  —  who,  as  everybody 
knows,  was  an  exceedingly  sensible  man,  and 
a  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him  —  ventured 
to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  Duties  of  Royalty. 
The  "  Quarterly,"  "  so  savage  and  tartarly," 
came  down  upon  him  in  the  most  contempt 
uous  style,  as  "  a  joker  of  jokes,"  a  "  diner- 
out  of  the  first  water,"  in  one  of  his  own 
phrases ;  sneering  at  him,  insulting  him,  as 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  125 

nothing  but  a  toady  of  a  court,  sneaking  be 
hind  the  anonymous,  would  ever  have  been 
mean  enough  to  do  to  a  man  of  his  position 
and  genius,  or  to  any  decent  person  even.  — 
If  I  were  giving  advice  to  a  young  fellow 
of  talent,  with  two  or  three  facets  to  his 
mind,  I  would  tell  him  by  all  means  to  keep 
his  wit  in  the  background  until  after  he  had 
made  a  reputation  by  his  more  solid  qual 
ities.  And  so  to  an  actor:  Hamlet  first, 
and  Bob  Logic  afterwards,  if  you  like ;  but 
don't  think,  as  they  say  poor  Liston  used  to, 
that  people  will  be  ready  to  allow  that  you 
can  do  anything  great  with  MacbetJis  dag 
ger  after  flourishing  about  with  Paul  Pry's 
umbrella.  Do  you  know,  too,  that  the  ma 
jority  of  men  look  upon  all  who  challenge 
their  attention,  —  for  a  while,  at  least,  —  as 
beggars,  and  nuisances  ?  They  always  try 
to  get  off  as  cheaply  as  they  can ;  and  the 
cheapest  of  all  things  they  can  give  a  liter 
ary  man  —  pardon  the  forlorn  pleasantry ! 
—  is  the  funny-koTLQ.  That  is  all  very  well 
so  far  as  it  goes,  but  satisfies  no  man,  and 
makes  a  good  many  angry,  as  I  told  you  on 
a  former  occasion. 

—  Oh,  indeed,  no  !  —  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  make  you  laugh,  occasionally.  I  think  I 
could  read  you  something  I  have  in  my  desk 


126  THE  AUTOCRAT  Ob" 

which  would  probably  make  you  smile.  Per 
haps  I  will  read  it  one  of  these  days,  if  you 
are  patient  with  me  when  I  am  sentimental 
and  reflective ;  not  just  now.  The  ludicrous 
has  its  place  in  the  universe  ;  it  is  not  a  hu 
man  invention,  but  one  of  the  Divine  ideas, 
illustrated  in  the  practical  jokes  of  kittens 
and  monkeys  long  before  Aristophanes  or 
Shakspeare.  How  curious  it  is  that  we  al 
ways  consider  solemnity  and  the  absence  of 
all  gay  surprises  and  encounter  of  wits  as 
essential  to  the  idea  of  the  future  life  of 
those  whom  we  thus  deprive  of  half  their 
faculties  and  then  call  blessed  !  There  are 
not  a  few  who,  even  in  this  life,  seem  to  be 
preparing  themselves  for  that  smileless  eter 
nity  to  which  they  look  forward,  by  banish 
ing  all  gayety  from  their  hearts  and  all 
joyousness  from  their  countenances.  I  meet 
one  such  in  the  street  not  uiifrequently,  a 
person  of  intelligence  and  education,  but 
who  gives  me  (and  all  that  he  passes)  such 
a  rayless  and  chilling  look  of  recognition,  — 
something  as  if  he  were  one  of  Heaven's  as 
sessors,  come  down  to  "  doom "  every  ac 
quaintance  he  met,  —  that  I  have  sometimes 
begun  to  sneeze  on  the  spot,  and  gone  home 
with  a  violent  cold,  dating  from  that  instant. 
I  don't  doubt  he  would  cut  his  kitten's  tail 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  127 

off,  if  he  caught  her  playing  with  it.  Please 
tell  me,  who  taught  her  to  play  with  it  ? 

No,  no !  —  give  me  a  chance  to  talk  to 
you,  my  fellow-boarders,  and  you  need  not 
be  afraid  that  I  shall  have  any  scruples 
about  entertaining  you,  if  I  can  do  it,  as  well 
as  giving  you  some  of  my  serious  thoughts, 
and  perhaps  my  sadder  fancies.  I  know 
nothing  in  English  or  any  other  literature 
more  admirable  than  that  sentiment  of  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  "  EVERY  MAN  TRULY  LIVES, 

SO  LONG  AS  HE  ACTS  HIS  NATURE,  OR  SOME 
WAY  MAKES  GOOD  THE  FACULTIES  OF  HIM 
SELF." 

I  find  the  great  thing  in  this  world  is  not 
so  much  where  we  stand,  as  in  what  direc 
tion  we  are  moving :  To  reach  the  port  of 
heaven,  we  must  sail  sometimes  with  the 
wind  and  sometimes  against  it,  —  but  we 
must  sail,  and  not  drift,  nor  lie  at  anchor. 
There  is  one  very  sad  thing  in  old  friend 
ships,  to  every  mind  which  is  really  moving 
onward.  It  is  this :  that  one  cannot  help 
using  his  early  friends  as  the  seaman  uses 
the  log,  to  mark  his  progress.  Every  now 
and  then  we  throw  an  old  schoolmate  over 
.the  stern  with  a  string  of  thought  tied  to 
him,  and  look,  —  I  am  afraid  with  a  kind  of 
luxurious  and  sanctimonious  compassion,  - 


128  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

to  see  the  rate  at  which  the  string  reels  off, 
while  he  lies  there  bobbing  up  and  down, 
poor  fellow  !  and  we  are  dashing  along  with 
the  white  foam  and  bright  sparkle  at  our 
bows  ;  —  the  ruffled  bosom  of  prosperity  and 
progress,  with  a  sprig  of  diamonds  stuck  in 
it !  But  this  is  only  the  sentimental  side  of 
the  matter ;  for  grow  we  must,  if  we  out 
grow  all  that  we  love. 

Don't  misunderstand  that  metaphor  of 
heaving  the  log,  I  beg  you.  It  is  merely  a 
smart  way  of  saying  that  we  cannot  avoid 
measuring  our  rate  of  movement  by  those 
with  whom  we  have  long  been  in  the  habit 
of  comparing  ourselves ;  and  when  they  once 
become  stationary,  we  can  get  our  reckon 
ing  from  them  with  painful  accuracy.  We 
see  just  what  we  were  when  they  were  our 
peers,  and  can  strike  the  balance  between 
that  and  whatever  we  may  feel  ourselves  to 
be  now.  No  doubt  we  may  sometimes  be 
mistaken.  If  we  change  our  last  simile  to 
that  very  old  and  familiar  one  of  a  fleet 
leaving  the  harbor  and  sailing  in  company 
for  some  distant  region,  we  can  get  what  we 
want  out  of  it.  There  is  one  of  our  com 
panions  ;  —  her  streamers  were  torn  into  rags 
before  she  had  got  into  the  open  sea,  then 
by  and  by  her  sails  blew  out  of  the  ropes 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  129 

one  after  another,  the  waves  swept  her  deck, 
and  as  night  came  on  we  left  her  a  seeming 
wreck,  as  we  flew  under  our  pyramid  of  can 
vas.  But  lo !  at  dawn  she  is  still  in  sight, 
—  it  may  be  in  advance  of  us.  Some  deep 
ocean  -  current  has  been  moving  her  on, 
strong,  but  silent,  —  yes,  stronger  than  these 
noisy  winds  that  puff  our  sails  until  they 
are  swollen  as  the  cheeks  of  jubilant  cheru 
bim.  And  when  at  last  the  black  steam-tug 
with  the  skeleton  arms,  which  comes  out  of 
the  mist  sooner  or  later  and  takes  us  all  in 
tow,  grapples  her  and  goes  off  panting  and 
groaning  with  her,  it  is  to  that  harbor  where 
all  wrecks  are  refitted  and  where,  alas !  we, 
towering  in  our  pride,  may  never  come. 

So  you  will  not  think  I  mean  to  speak 
lightly  of  old  friendships,  because  we  cannot 
help  instituting  comparisons  between  our 
present  and  former  selves  by  the  aid  of  those 
who  were  what  we  were,  but  are  not  what  we 
are.  Nothing  strikes  one  more,  in  the  race 
of  life,  than  to  see  how  many  give  out  in 
the  first  half  of  the  course.  "  Commence 
ment  day  "  always  reminds  me  of  the  start 
for  the  "  Derby,"  when  the  beautiful  high 
bred  three-year-olds  of  the  season  are  brought 
up  for  trial.  That  day  is  the  start,  and  life 
is  the  race.  Here  we  are  at  Cambridge,  and 


130  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

a  class  is  just  "  graduating."  Poor  Harry  ! 
he  was  to  have  been  there  too,  but  he  hus 
paid  forfeit ;  step  out  here  into  the  grass  be 
hind  the  church  ;  ah !  there  it  is  :  — 

"  HlJNC   LAPIDEM   POSUERUNT 
SOCII    MCERENTES." 

But  this  is  the  start,  and  here  they  are,  — 
coats  bright  as  silk,  and  manes  as  smooth  as 
eau  lustrale  can  make  them.  Some  of  the 
best  of  the  colts  are  pranced  round,  a  few 
minutes  each,  to  show  their  paces.  What  is 
that  old  gentleman  crying  about?  and  the 
old  lady  by  him,  and  the  three  girls,  what 
are  they  all  covering  their  eyes  for?  Oh, 
that  is  their  colt  which  has  just  been  trotted 
up  on  the  stage.  Do  they  really  think  those 
little  thin  legs  can  do  anything  in  such  a 
slashing  sweepstakes  as  is  coming  off  in  these 
next  forty  years  ?  Oh,  this  terrible  gift  of 
second-sight  that  comes  to  some  of  us  when 
we  begin  to  look  through  the  silvered  rings 
of  the  arcns  senilis  ! 

Ten  years  gone.  First  turn  in  the  race. 
A  few  broken  down ;  two  or  three  bolted. 
Several  show  in  advance  of  the  ruck.  Oas- 
sock,  a  black  colt,  seems  to  be  ahead  of  the 
rest ;  those  black  colts  commonly  get  the 
start,  I  have  noticed,  of  the  others,  in  tin 
first  quarter.  Meteor  has  pulled  up. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  131 

Twenty  years.  Second  corner  turned. 
Cassock  has  dropped  from  the  front,  and 
Judex,  an  iron-gray,  has  the  lead.  But 
look !  how  they  have  thinned  out !  Down 
flat,  —  five,  —  six,  —  how  many  ?  They  lie 
still  enough !  they  will  not  get  up  again  in 
this  race,  be  very  sure  !  And  the  rest  of 
them,  what  a  "  tailing  off  "  !  Anybody  can 
see  who  is  going  to  win,  —  perhaps. 

Thirty  years.  Third  corner  turned. 
Dives,  bright  sorrel,  ridden  by  the  fellow 
in  a  yellow  jacket,  begins  to  make  play 
fast ;  is  getting  to  be  the  favorite  with  many. 
Bat  who  is  that  other  one  that  has  been 
lengthening  his  stride  from  the  first,  and 
now  shows  close  up  to  the  front  ?  Don't 
you  remember  the  quiet  brown  colt  Aste 
roid,  with  the  star  in  his  forehead  ?  That 
is  he  ;  he  is  one  of  the  sort  that  lasts ;  look 
out  for  him  !  The  black  "  colt,"  as  we  used 
to  call  him,  is  in  the  background,  taking  it 
easily  in  a  gentle  trot.  There  is  one  they 
used  to  call  the  Filly,  on  account  of  a  cer 
tain  feminine  air  he  had ;  well  up,  you  see  ; 
the  Filly  is  not  to  be  despised,  my  boy ! 

Forty  years.  More  dropping  off,  —  but 
places  much  as  before. 

Fifty  years.  Race  over.  All  that  are 
on  the  course  are  coming  in  at  a  walk ;  no 


132  THE  AUTOCRAT  Of 

more  running.  Who  is  ahead?  Ahead? 
What !  and  the  winning-post  a  slab  of  white 
or  gray  stone  standing  out  from  that  turf 
where  there  is  no  more  jockeying  or  strain 
ing  for  victory!  Well,  the  world  marks 
their  places  in  its  betting-book  ;  but  be  sure 
that  these  matter  very  little,  if  they  have  run 
as  well  as  they  knew  how ! 

—  Did  I  not  say  to  you  a  little  while  ago 
that  the  universe  swam  in  an  ocean  of  si 
militudes  and  analogies?  I  will  not  quote 
Cowley,  or  Burns,  or  Wordsworth,  just  now, 
to  fihow  you  what  thoughts  were  suggested  to 
them  by  the  simplest  natural  objects,  such 
as  a  flower  or  a  leaf ;  but  I  will  read  you  a 
few  lines,  if  you  do  not  object,  suggested  by 
looking  at  a  section  of  one  of  those  cham 
bered  shells  to  which  is  given  the  name  of 
Pearly  Nautilus.  We  need  not  trouble  our 
selves  about  the  distinction  between  this  and 
the  Paper  Nautilus,  the  Argonauta  of  the 
ancients.  The  name  applied  to  both  shows 
that  each  has  long  been  compared  to  a  ship, 
as  you  may  see  more  fully  in  Webster's 
Dictionary,  or  the  "  Encyclopaedia,"  to  which 
he  refers.  If  you  will  look  into  Roget's 
Bridgewater  Treatise,  you  will  find  a  figure 
of  one  of  these  shells  and  a  section  of  it. 
The  last  will  show  you  the  series  of  enlarg- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  183 

ing  compartments  successively  dwelt  in  by 
the  animal  that  inhabits  the  shell,  which  is 
built  in  a  widening  spiral.  Can  you  find  no 
lesson  in  this  ? 

THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS.1 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living-  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 

Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed,  — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed ! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil ; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 

1  I  have  now  and  then  found  a  naturalist  who  still  wor 
ried  over  the  distinction  between  the  Pearly  Nautilus  and 
the  Paper  Nautilus,  or  Argonauta.  As  the  stories  about 
both  are  mere  fables,  attaching  to  the  Physalia,  or  Portu 
guese  man-of-war,  as  well  as  to  these  two  molluscs,  it 
seems  over-nice  to  quarrel  with  the  poetical  handling  of 
a  fiction  sufficiently  justified  by  the  name  commonly  ap 
plied  to  the  ship  of  pearl  as  well  as  the  ship  of  paper. 


134  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining1  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 

Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no 
more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap  forlorn  ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 

Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that 
sings :  — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  0  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea! 


V. 


A  LYRIC  conception  —  my  friend,  the 
Poet,  said  —  hits  me  like  a  bullet  in  the 
forehead.  I  have  often  had  the  blood  drop 
from  my  cheeks  when  it  struck,  and  felt  that 
I  turned  as  white  as  death.  Then  comes  a 
creeping  as  of  centipedes  running  down  the 
spine,  —  then  a  gasp  and  a  great  jump  of 
the  heart,  —  then  a  sudden  flush  and  a  beat- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  135 

ing  in  the  vessels  of  the  head,  —  then  a  long 
sigh,  —  and  the  poem  is  written. 

It  is  an  impromptu,  I  suppose,  then,  if 
you  write  it  so  suddenly,  —  I  replied. 

No,  —  said  he,  —  far  from  it.  I  said 
written,  but  I  did  not  say  copied.  Every 
such  poem  has  a  soul  and  a  body,  and  it  is 
the  body  of  it,  or  the  copy,  that  men  read 
and  publishers  pay  for.  The  soul  of  it  is 
born  in  an  instant  in  the  poet's  soul.  It 
comes  to  him  a  thought,  tangled  in  the 
meshes  of  a  few  sweet  words,  —  words  that 
have  loved  each  other  from  the  cradle  of  the 
language,  but  have  never  been  wedded  until 
now.  Whether  it  will  ever  fully  embody 
itself  in  a  bridal  train  of  a  dozen  stanzas  or 
not  is  uncertain ;  but  it  exists  potentially 
from  the  instant  that  the  poet  turns  pale 
with  it.  It  is  enough  to  stun  and  scare  any 
body,  to  have  a  hot  thought  come  crashing 
into  his  brain,  and  ploughing  up  those  par 
allel  ruts  where  the  wagon  trains  of  common 
ideas  were  jogging  along  in  their  regular 
sequences  of  association.  No  wonder  the 
ancients  made  the  poetical  impulse  wholly 
external.  Mfjviv  aetSe  ®ea  •  Goddess,  —  Muse, 
—  divine  afflatus,  —  something  outside  al 
ways.  I  never  wrote  any  verses  worth  read 
ing.  I  can't.  I  am  too  stupid.  If  I  ever 


136  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

copied  any  that  were  worth  reading,  I  was 
only  a  medium. 

[I  was  talking  all  this  time  to  our  board 
ers,  you  understand,  —  telling  them  what 
this  poet  told  me.  The  company  listened 
rather  attentively,  I  thought,  considering 
the  literary  character  of  the  remarks.] 

The  old  gentleman  opposite  all  at  once 
asked  me  if  I  ever  read  anything  better  than 
Pope's  "  Essay  011  Man  "  ?  Had  I  ever  pe 
rused  McFingal?  He  was  fond  of  poetry 
when  he  was  a  boy,  —  his  mother  taught  him 
to  say  many  little  pieces,  —  he  remembered 
one  beautiful  hymn  ;  — and  the  old  gentle 
man  began,  in  a  clear,  loud  voice,  for  his 
years,  — 

"  The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 
And  spangled  heavens,' '  — 

He  stopped,  as  if  startled  by  our  silence, 
and  a  faint  flush  ran  up  beneath  the  thin 
white  hairs  that  fell  upon  his  cheek.  As  I 
looked  round,  I  was  reminded  of  a  show  I 
once  saw  at  the  Museum,  —  the  Sleeping 
Beauty,  I  think  they  called  it.  The  old 
man's  sudden  breaking  out  in  this  way 
turned  every  face  towards  him,  and  eac-li 
kept  his  posture  as  if  changed  to  stone.  Our 
Celtic  Bridget,  or  Biddy,  is  not  a  foolish  fat 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  137 

scullion  to  burst  out  crying  for  a  sentiment. 
She  is  of  the  serviceable,  red-handed,  broad- 
and-high-shouldered  type  ;  one  of  those  im 
ported  female  servants  who  are  known  in 
public  by  their  amorphous  style  of  person, 
their  stoop  forwards,  and  a  headlong  and  as 
it  were  precipitous  walk,  —  the  waist  plung 
ing  downwards  into  the  rocking  pelvis  at 
every  heavy  footfall.  Bridget,  constituted 
for  action,  not  for  emotion,  was  about  to 
deposit  a  plate  heaped  with  something 
upon  the  table,  when  I  saw  the  coarse  arm 
stretched  by  my  shoulder  arrested,  —  mo 
tionless  as  the  arm  of  a  terra-cotta  carya 
tid  ;  she  could  n't  set  the  plate  down  while 
the  old  gentleman  was  speaking ! 

He  was  quite  silent  after  this,  still  wear 
ing  the  slight  flush  on  his  cheek.  Don't 
ever  think  the  poetry  is  dead  in  an  old  man 
because  his  forehead  is  wrinkled,  or  that  his 
manhood  has  left  him  when  his  hand  trem 
bles  !  If  they  ever  were  there,  they  are 
there  still ! 

By  and  by  we  got  talking  again.  —  Does 
a  poet  love  the  verses  written  through  him, 
do  you  think,  Sir?  —  said  the  divinity-stu 
dent. 

So  long  as  they  are  warm  from  his  mind, 
—  carry  any  of  his  animal  heat  about  them, 


138  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

I  know  he  loves  them,  —  I  answered. 
When  they  have  had  time  to  cool,  he  is 
more  indifferent. 

A  good  deal  as  it  is  with  buckwheat 
cakes,  —  said  the  young  fellow  whom  they 
call  John. 

The  last  words,  only,  reached  the  ear  of 
the  economically  organized  female  in  black 
bombazine.  —  Buckwheat  is  skerce  and  high, 

—  she  remarked.      [Must  be  a  poor  relation 
sponging  on   our  landlady — pays  nothing, 

—  so  she  must  stand  by  the  guns  and  be 
ready  to  repel  boarders.] 

I  liked  the  turn  the  conversation  had 
taken,  for  I  had  some  things  I  wanted  to 
say,  and  so,  after  waiting  a  minute,  I  began 
again.  —  I  don't  think  the  poems  I  read  you 
sometimes  can  be  fairly  appreciated,  given 
to  you  as  they  are  in  the  green  state. 

—  You  don't  know  what  I  mean  by  the 
green  state  ?  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you. 
Certain  things  are  good  for  nothing  until 
they  have  been  kept  a  long  while  ;  and  some 
are  good  for  nothing  until  they  have  been 
long  kept  and  used.  Of  the  first,  wine  is 
the  illustrious  and  immortal  example.  Of 
those  which  must  be  kept  and  used  I  will 
name  three,  —  meerschaum  pipes,  violins, 
-and  poems.  The  meerschaum  is  but  a  pool 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  139 

% 

affair  until  it  has  burned  a  thousand  offer 
ings  to  the  cloud-compelling  deities.  It 
comes  to  us  without  complexion  or  flavor,  — 
born  of  the  sea-foam,  like  Aphrodite,  but 
colorless  as  palllda  Jlfors  herself.  The  fire 
is  lighted  in  its  central  shrine,  and  grad 
ually  the  juices  which  the  broad  leaves  of 
the  Great  Vegetable  had  sucked  up  from  an 
acre  and  curdled  into  a  drachm  are  diffused 
through  its  thirsting  pores.  First  a  dis 
coloration,  then  a  stain,  and  at  last  a  rich, 
glowing,  umber  tint  spreading  over  the 
whole  surface.  Nature  true  to  her  old 
brown  autumnal  hue,  you  see,  —  as  true  in 
the  fire  of  the  meerschaum  as  in  the  sun 
shine  of  October !  And  then  the  cumula 
tive  wealth  of  its  fragrant  reminiscences ! 
he  who  inhales  its  vapors  takes  a  thousand 
whiffs  in  a  single  breath  ;  and  one  cannot 
touch  it  without  awakening  the  old  joys  that 
hang  around  it  as  the  smell  of  flowers  clings 
to  the  dresses  of  the  daughters  of  the  house 
of  Farina ! 

[Don't  think  I  use  a  meerschaum  myseK, 
for  /  do  not,  though  I  have  owned  a  calu 
met  since  my  childhood,  which  from  a 
naked  Pict  (of  the  Mohawk  species)  my 
grandsire  won,  together  with  a  tomahawk 
and  beaded  knife-sheath ;  paying  for  the  lot 


140  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

with  a  bullet-mark  on  his  right  cheek.  On 
the  maternal  side  I  inherit  the  loveliest  sil 
ver-mounted  tobacco-stopper  you  ever  saw. 
It  is  a  little  box-wood  Triton,  carved  with 
charming  liveliness  and  truth.  I  have  often 
compared  it  to  a  figure  in  Raphael's  "Tri 
umph  of  Galatea. "  It  came  to  me  in  an 
ancient  shagreen  case,  —  how  old  it  is  I  do 
not  know,  —  but  it  must  have  been  made 
since  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  time.  If  you 
are  curious,  you  shall  see  it  any  day. 
Neither  will  I  pretend  that  I  am  so  unused 
to  the  more  perishable  smoking  contrivance 
that  a  few  whiffs  would  make  me  feel  as  if 
I  lay  in  a  ground-swell  on  the  Bay  of  Bis 
cay.  I  am  not  unacquainted  with  that  fusi 
form,  spiral-wound  bundle  of  chopped  stems 
and  miscellaneous  incombustibles,  the  cigar, 
so  called,  of  the  shops,  —  which  to  "draw" 
asks  the  suction-power  of  a  nursling  infant 
Hercules,  and  to  relish,  the  leathery  palate 
of  an  old  Silenus.  I  do  not  advise  you, 
young  man,  even  if  my  illustration  strike 
your  fancy,  to  consecrate  the  flower  of  your 
life  to  painting  the  bowl  of  a  pipe,  for,  let 
me  assure  you,  the  stain  of  a  reverie-breed 
ing  -narcotic  may  strike  deeper  than  you 
think  for.  I  have  seen  the  green  leaf  of 
early  promise  grow  brown  before  its  time 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  141 

under  such.  Nicotian  regimen,  and  thought 
the  umbered  meerschaum  was  dearly  bought 
at  the  cost  of  a  brain  enfeebled  and  a  will 
enslaved.] 

Violins,  too,  —  the  sweet  old  Amati !  — 
the  divine  Stradivarius  !  Played  on  by  an 
cient  maestros  until  the  bow-hand  lost  its 
power  and  the  flying  fingers  stiffened.  Be 
queathed  to  the  passionate  young  enthusiast, 
who  made  it  whisper  his  hidden  love,  and 
cry  his  inarticulate  longings,  and  scream  his 
untold  agonies,  and  wail  his  monotonous  de 
spair.  Passed  from  his  dying  hand  to  the 
cold  virtuoso,  who  let  it  slumber  in  its  case 
for  a  generation,  till,  when  his  hoard  was 
broken  up,  it  came  forth  once  more  and 
rode  the  stormy  symphonies  of  royal  orches 
tras,  beneath  the  rushing  bow  of  their  lord 
and  leader.  Into  lonely  prisons  with  im 
provident  artists  ;  into  convents  from  which 
arose,  day  and  night,  the  holy  hymns  with 
which  its  tones  were  blended ;  and  back 
again  to  orgies  in  which  it  learned  to  howl 
and  laugh  as  if  a  legion  of  devils  were  shut 
up  in  it;  then  again  to  the  gentle  dilettante 
who  calmed  it  down  with  easy  melodies  until 
it  answered  him  softly  as  in  the  days  of 
the  old  maestros.  And  so  given  into  our 
hands,  its  pores  all  full  of  music ;  stained, 


142  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

like  the  meerschaum,  through  and  through, 
with  the  concentrated  hue  and  sweetness  of 
all  the  harmonies  which  have  kindled  and 
faded  on  its  strings. 

Now  I  tell  you  a  poem  must  be  kept  and 
used,  like  a  meerschaum,  or  a  violin.  A 
poem  is  just  as  porous  as  the  meerschaum  ; 
—  the  more  porous  it  is,  the  better.  I  mean 
to  say  that  a  genuine  poem  is  capable  of  ab 
sorbing  an  indefinite  amount  of  the  essence 
of  our  own  humanity,  —  its  tenderness,  its 
heroism,  its  regrets,  its  aspirations,  so  as  to 
be  gradually  stained  through  with  a  divine 
secondary  color  derived  from  ourselves.  So 
you  see  it  must  take  time  to  bring  the  senti 
ment  of  a  poem  into  harmony  with  our  na 
ture,  by  staining  ourselves  through  every 
thought  and  image  our  being  can  penetrate. 

Then  again  as  to .  the  mere  music  of  a 
new  poem,  why,  who  can  expect  anything 
more  from  that  than  from  the  music  of  a 
violin  fresh  from  the  maker's  hands  ?  Now 
you  know  very  well  that  there  are  no  less 
than  fifty-eight  different  pieces  in  a  violin. 
These  pieces  are  strangers  to  each  other, 
and  it  takes  a  century,  more  or  less,  to 
make  them  thoroughly  acquainted.  At  last 
they  learn  to  vibrate  in  harmony  and  the 
instrument  becomes  an  organic  whole,  as  if 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  143 

it  were  a  great  seed -capsule  which  had 
grown  from  a  garden-bed  in  Cremona,  or 
elsewhere.  Besides,  the  wood  is  juicy  and 
full  of  sap  for  fifty  years  or  so,  but  at  the 
end  of  fifty  or  a  hundred  more  gets  tolera 
bly  dry  and  comparatively  resonant. 

Don't  you  see  that  all  this  is  just  as  true 
of  a  poem  ?  Counting  each  word  as  a  piece, 
there  are  more  pieces  in  an  average  copy 
of  verses  than  in  a  violin.  The  poet  has 
forced  all  these  words  together,  and  fas 
tened  them,  and  they  don't  understand  it  at 
first.  But  let  the  poem  be  repeated  aloud 
and  murmured  over  in  the  mind's  muffled 
whisper  often  enough,  and  at  length  the 
parts  become  knit  together  in  such  absolute 
solidarity  that  you  could  not  change  a  syl 
lable  without  the  whole  world's  crying  out 
against  you  for  meddling  with  the  harmo 
nious  fabric.  Observe,  too,  how  the  drying 
process  takes  place  in  the  stuff  of  a  poem  just 
as  in  that  of  a  violin.  Here  is  a  Tyrolese 
fiddle  that  is  just  coming  to  its  hundredth 
birthday,  —  (Pedro  Klauss,  Tyroli,  fecit, 
1760),— the  sap  is  pretty  well  out  of  it. 
And  here  is  the  song  of  an  old  poet  whom 
Neaera  cheated :  — 

"  Nox  erat,  et  coelo  f ulgebat  Luna  sereno 
Inter  minora  sidera, 


144  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Cum  tu  mag-norura  rmmen  laesxira  deornm 
In  verba  jurabas  mea. '' 

Don't  you  perceive  the  sonorousness  of  these 
old  dead  Latin  phrases  ?  Now  I  tell  you  that 
every  word  fresh  from  the  dictionary  brings 
with  it  a  certain  succulence ;  and  though 
I  cannot  expect  the  sheets  of  the  "  Pacto- 
lian,"  in  which,  as  I  told  you,  I  sometimes 
print  my  verses,  to  get  so  dry  as  the  crisp 
papyrus  that  held  those  words  of  Horatius 
Flaccus,  yet  you  may  be  sure,  that,  while  the 
sheets  are  damp,  and  while  the  lines  hold 
their  sap,  you  can't  fairly  judge  of  my  per 
formances,  and  that,  if  made  of  the  true 
stuff,  they  will  ring  better  after  a  while. 

[There  was  silence  for  a  brief  space,  after 
my  somewhat  elaborate  exposition  of  these 
self-evident  analogies.  Presently  a  person 
turned  towards  me  —  I  do  not  choose  to  des 
ignate  the  individual  —  and  said  that  he 
rather  expected  my  pieces  had  given  pretty 
good  "  sahtisfahction."  —  I  had,  up  to 
this  moment,  considered  this  complimentary 
phrase  as  sacred  to  the  use  of  secretaries  of 
lyceums,  and,  as  it  has  been  usually  accom 
panied  by  a  small  pecuniary  testimonial, 
have  acquired  a  certain  relish  for  this  mod 
erately  tepid  and  unstimulating  expression 
of  enthusiasm.  But  as  a  reward  for  gratui- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  145 

ous  services  I  confess  I  thought  it  a  little 
j>elow  that  blood-heat  standard  which  a 
man's  breath  ought  to  have,  whether  silent, 
or  vocal  and  articulate.  I  waited  for  a  fa 
vorable  opportunity,  however,  before  making 
the  remarks  which  follow.] 

—  There  are  single  expressions,  as  I  have 
told  you  already,  that  fix  a  man's  position 
for  you  before  you  have  done  shaking  hands 
with  him.  Allow  me  to  expand  a  little. 
There  are  several  things,  very  slight  in 
themselves,  yet  implying  other  things  not  so 
unimportant.  Thus,  your  French  servant 
has  dgvalise  your  premises  and  got  caught. 
Excuses,  says  the  sergent-de-ville,  as  he  po 
litely  relieves  him  of  his  upper  garments 
and  displays  his  bust  in  the  full  daylight. 
Good  shoulders  enough,  —  a  little  marked, 

-  traces  of  smallpox,  perhaps,  —  but  white. 
.  .  .  Crac  !  from  the  sergent-de-ville' s  broad 
palm  on  the  white  shoulder !  Now  look ! 

Vogue  la  gale  re  !  Out  comes  the  big  red 
V  —  mark  of  the  hot  iron  ;  —  he  had  blis 
tered  it  out  pretty  nearly,  —  had  n't  he  ?  — 
the  old  rascal  VOLEUR,  branded  in  the 
galleys  at  Marseilles  !  [Don't !  What  if 
he  has  got  something  like  this  ?  —  nobody 
supposes  I  invented  such  a  story.] 

My  man  John,  who  used  to  drive  two  of 


146  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

those  six  equine  females  which  I  told  you  I 
had  owned,  — for,  look  you,  my  friends,  sim 
ple  though  I  stand  here,  I  am  one  that  has 
been  driven  in  his  "  kerridge,"  —  not  using 
that  term,  as  liberal  shepherds  do,  for  any 
battered  old  shabby-genteel  go-cart  which 
has  more  than  one  wheel,  but  meaning 
thereby  a  four-wheeled  vehicle  with  a  pole, 
—  my  man  John,  I  say,  was  a  retired  soldier. 
He  retired  unostentatiously,  as  many  of  Her 
Majesty's  modest  servants  have  done  before 
and  since.  John  told  me,  that  when  an  offi 
cer  thinks  he  recognizes  one  of  these  retir 
ing  heroes,  and  would  know  if  he  has  really 
been  in  the  service,  that  he  may  restore  him, 
if  possible,  to  a  grateful  country,  he  comes 
suddenly  upon  him,  and  says,  sharply, 
"  Strap  !  "  If  he  has  ever  worn  the  shoul 
der-strap,  he  has  learned  the  reprimand  for 
its  ill  adjustment.  The  old  word  of  com 
mand  flashes  through  his  muscles,  and  his 
hand  goes  up  in  an  instant  to  the  place 
where  the  strap  used  to  be. 

[I  was  all  the  time  preparing  for  my 
grand  coup,  you  understand  ;  but  I  saw  they 
were  not  quite  ready  for  it,  and  so  contin 
ued,  —  always  in  illustration  of  the  general 
principle  I  had  laid  down.] 

Yes,  odd  things  come  out  in  ways  that  no- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  147 

body  thinks  of.  There  was  a  legend,  that, 
when  the  Danish  pirates  made  descents  upon 
the  English  coast,  they  caught  a  few  Tartars 
occasionally,  in  the  shape  of  Saxons,  who 
would  not  let  them  go,  —  on  the  contrary,  in 
sisted  on  their  staying,  and,  to  make  sure  of 
it,  treated  them  as  Apollo  treated  Marsyas, 
or  as  Bartholinus  has  treated  a  fellow-crea 
ture  in  his  title-page,  and,  having  divested 
them  of  the  one  essential  and  perfectly  fit 
ting  garment,  indispensable  in  the  mildest 
climates,  nailed  the  same  on  the  church-door 
as  we  do  the  banns  of  marriage,  in  terrorem. 

[There  was  a  laugh  at  this  among  some 
of  the  young  folks  ;  but  as  I  looked  at  our 
landlady,  I  saw  that  "  the  water  stood  in  her 
eyes,"  as  it  did  in  Christiana's  when  the  in 
terpreter  asked  her  about  the  spider,  and 
I  fancied,  but  wasn't  quite  sure  that  the 
schoolmistress,  blushed,  as  Mercy  did  in  the 
same  conversation,  as  you  remember.] 

That  sounds  like  a  cock-and-bull-story,  — 
said  the  young  fellow  whom  they  call  John. 
I  abstained  from  making  Hamlet's  remark 
to  Horatio,  and  continued. 

Not  long  since,  the  church-wardens  were 
repairing  and  beautifying  an  old  Saxon 
church  in  a  certain  English  village,  and 
among  other  things  thought  the  doors  should 


148  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

be  attended  to.  One  of  them  particularly, 
the  front-door,  looked  very  badly,  crusted, 
as  it  were,  and  as  if  it  would  be  all  the  bet 
ter  for  scraping.  There  happened  to  be  a 
microscopist  in  the  village  who  had  heard 
the  old  pirate  story,  and  he  took  it  into  his 
head  to  examine  the  crust  on  this  door. 
There  was  no  mistake  about  it ;  it  was  a 
genuine  historical  document,  of  the  Ziska 
drum-head  pattern,  —  a  real  cutis  humane^ 
stripped  from  some  old  Scandinavian  fili 
buster,  and  the  legend  was  true. 

My  friend,  the  Professor,  settled  an  im 
portant  historical  and  financial  question 
once  by  the  aid  of  an  exceedingly  minute 
fragment  of  a  similar  document.  Behind 
the  pane  of  plate-glass  which  bore  his  name 
and  title  burned  a  modest  lamp,  signifying 
to  the  passers-by  that  at  all  hours  of  the 
night  the  slightest  favors  (or  fevers)  were 
welcome.  A  youth  who  had  freely  partaken 
of  the  cup  which  cheers  and  likewise  inebri 
ates,  following  a  moth-like  impulse  very  nat 
ural  under  the  circumstances,  dashed  his  fist 
at  the  light  and  quenched  the  meek  lumi 
nary,  —  breaking  through  the  plate-glass,  of 
course,  to  reach  it.  Now  I  don't  want  to 
go  into  minutiae  at  table,  you  know,  but  a 
naked  hand  can  no  more  go  through  a  pane 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  149 

)f  thick  glass  without  leaving1  some  of  its 
cuticle,  to  say  the  least,  behind  it,  than  a 
butterfly  can  go  through  a  sausage-machine 
without  looking  the  worse  for  it.  The  Pro 
fessor  gathered  up  the  fragments  of  glass, 
and  with  them  certain  very  minute  but  en 
tirely  satisfactory  documents  which  would 
have  identified  and  hanged  any  rogue  in 
Christendom  who  had  parted  with  them.  — 
The  historical  question,  Who  did  it?  and 
the  financial  question,  Who  paid  for  it? 
were  both  settled  before  the  new  lamp  was 
lighted  the  next  evening. 

You  see,  my  friends,  what  immense  con 
clusions,  touching  our  lives,  our  fortunes, 
and  our  sacred  honor,  may  be  reached  by 
means  of  very  insignificant  premises.  This 
is  eminently  true  of  manners  and  forms  of 
speech  ;  a  movement  or  a  phrase  often  tells 
you  all  you  want  to  know  about  a  person. 
Thus,  "  How  's  your  health  ?  "  (commonly 
pronounced  tiaalth)  instead  of,  How  do  you 
do  ?  or,  How  are  you  ?  Or  calling  your  lit 
tle  dark  entry  a  "  hall,"  and  your  old  rickety 
one-horse  wagon  a  "kerridge."  Or  telling 
a  person  who  has  been  trying  to  please  you 
that  he  has  given  you  pretty  good  "  sahtis- 
fahction."  Or  saying  that  you  "  remem 
ber  of"  such  a  thing,  or  that  you  have  been 


150  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

"  stoppin'  "  at  Deacon  Somebody's,  —  and 
other  such  expressions.  One  of  my  friends 
had  a  little  marble  statuette  of  Cupid  in  the 
parlor  of  his  country-house,  —  bow,  arrows, 
wings,  and  all  complete.  A  visitor,  indig 
enous  to  the  region,  looking  pensively  at 
the  figure,  asked  the  lady  of  the  house  "  if 
that  was  a  statoo  of  her  deceased  infant?  ? 
What  a  delicious,  though  somewhat  volu 
minous  biography,  social,  educational,  and 
aesthetic,  in  that  brief  question  ! 

[Please  observe  with  what  Machiavellian 
astuteness  I  smuggled  in  the  particular  of 
fence  which  it  was  my  object  to  hold  up  to 
my  fellow-boarders,  without  too  personal  an 
attack  on  the  individual  at  whose  door  it  lay.] 

That  was  an  exceedingly  dull  person  who 
made  the  remark,  Ex  pede  Herculem.  He 
might  as  well  have  said,  "  from  a  peck  of 
apples  you  may  judge  of  the  barrel."  Ex 
PEDE,  to  be  sure  !  Read,  instead,  Ex  ungne 
minimi  digiti  pedis,  Herculem,  ejusque  pa- 
trem,  matrem,  avos  et  proavos,filios,  nepotes 
et  pronepotes !  Talk  to  me  about  your 
Sos  TTOV  OTTOJ  /  Tell  me  about  Cuvier's  getting 
up  a  megatherium  from  a  tooth,  or  Agassiz's 
drawing  a  portrait  of  an  undiscovered  fish 
from  a  single  scale  !  As  the  "  O  "  revealed 
Giotto,  —  as  the  one  word  "  moi "  betrayed 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  151 

the  Stratf  ord-atte-Bowe-taught  Anglais,  —  so 
all  a  man's  antecedents  and  possibilities  are 
summed  up  in  a  single  utterance  which  gives 
at  once  the  gauge  of  his  education  and  his 
mental  organization. 

Possibilities,  Sir  ?  —  said  the  divinity-stu 
dent  ;  can't  a  man  who  says  Haow  ?  arrive 
at  distinction  ? 

Sir,  —  I  replied,  —  in  a  republic  all  things 
are  possible.  But  the  man  with  a  future 
has  almost  of  necessity  sense  enough  to  see 
that  any  odious  trick  of  speech  or  manners 
must  be  got  rid  of.  Does  n't  Sydney  Smith 
say  that  a  public  man  in  England  never  gets 
over  a  false  quantity  uttered  in  early  life  ? 
Our  public  men  are  in  little  danger  of  this 
fatal  mis-step,  as  few  of  them  are  in  the  habit 
of  introducing  Latin  into  their  speeches,  — 
for  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  But  they 
are  bound  to  speak  decent  English,  —  un 
less,  indeed,  they  are  rough  old  campaign 
ers,  like  General  Jackson  or  General  Taylor ; 
in  which  case,  a  few  scars  on  Priscian's  head 
are  pardoned  to  old  fellows  who  have  quite 
as  many  on  their  own,  and  a  constituency  of 
thirty  empires  is  not  at  all  particular,  pro 
vided  they  do  not  swear  in  their  Presiden 
tial  Messages. 

However,  it  is  not  for  me  to  talk.     I  have 


152  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

<nade  mistakes  enough  in  conversation  and 
print.  I  never  find  them  out  until  they  are 
stereotyped,  and  then  I  think  they  rarely 
escape  me.  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  -make 
half  a  dozen  slips  before  this  breakfast  is 
over,  and  remember  them  all  before  another. 
How  one  does  tremble  with  rage  at  his  own 
intense  momentary  stupidity  about  things  he 
knows  perfectly  well,  and  to  think  how  he 
lays  himself  open  to  the  impertinences  of 
the  captatores  verborum,  those  useful  but 
humble  scavengers  of  the  language,  whose 
business  it  is  to  pick  up  what  might  offend 
or  injure,  and  remove  it,  hugging  and  feed 
ing  on  it  as  they  go  !  I  don't  want  to  speak 
too  slightingly  of  these  verbal  critics ;  — 
how  can  I,  who  am  so  fond  of  talking  about 
errors  and  vulgarisms  of  speech  ?  Only 
there  is  a  difference  between  those  clerical 
blunders  which  almost  every  man  commits, 
knowing  better,  and  that  habitual  grossness 
or  meanness  of  speech  which  is  unendurable 
to  educated  persons,  from  anybody  that 
wears  silk  or  broadcloth. 

[I  write  down  the  above  remarks  this 
morning,  January  26th,  making  this  record 
of  the  date  that  nobody  may  think  it  was 
written  in  wrath,  on  account  of  any  particu 
lar  grievance  suffered  from  the  invasion  of 
any  individual  scarabceus  yrammaticus.~\ 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  153 

—  I  wonder  if  anybody  ever  finds  fault 
with  anything  I  say  at  this  table  when  it 
is  repeated  ?  I  hope  they  do,  I  am  sure.  I 
should  be  very  certain  that  I  had  said  noth 
ing  of  much  significance,  if  they  did  not. 

Did  you  never,  in  walking  in  the  fields, 
come  across  a  large  flat  stone,  which  had 
lain,  nobody  knows  how  long,  just  where 
you  found  it,  with  the  grass  forming  a  little 
hedge,  as  it  were,  all  round  it,  close  to  its 
edges,  —  and  have  you  not,  in  obedience  to 
a  kind  of  feeling  that  told  you  it  had  been 
lying  there  long  enough,  insinuated  your 
stick  or  your  foot  or  your  fingers  under  its 
edge  and  turned  it  over  as  a  housewife 
turns  a  cake,  when  she  says  to  herself, 
"  It 's  done  brown  enough  by  this  time  5>  ? 
What  an  odd  revelation,  and  what  an  un 
foreseen  and  unpleasant  surprise  to  a  small 
community,  the  very  existence  of  which  you 
had  not  suspected,  until  the  sudden  dismay 
and  scattering  among  its  members  produced 
by  your  turning  the  old  stone  over  !  Blades 
of  grass  flattened  down,  colorless,  matted 
together,  as  if  they  had  been  bleached  and 
ironed ;  hideous  crawling  creatures,  some  oi 
them  coleopterous  or  horny-shelled,  —  turtle 
bugs  one  wants  to  call  them ;  some  of  them 
softer,  but  cunningly  spread  out  and  com- 


154  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

pressed  like  Lepine  watches  ;  (Nature  never 
loses  a  crack  or  a  crevice,  mind  you,  or  a 
joint  in  a  tavern  bedstead,  but  she  always 
has  one  of  her  flat-pattern  live  timekeepers 
to  slide  into  it ;)  black,  glossy  crickets,  with 
their  long  filaments  sticking  out  like  the 
whips  of  four-horse  stage-coaches  ;  motion 
less,  slug-like  creatures,  young  larvaB,  per 
haps  more  horrible  in  their  pulpy  stillness 
than  even  in  the  infernal  wriggle  of  matu 
rity  !  But  no  sooner  is  the  stone  turned  and 
the  wholesome  light  of  day  let  upon  this 
compressed  and  blinded  community  of  creep 
ing  things,  than  all  of  them  which  enjoy  the 
luxury  of  •  legs  —  and  some  of  them  have  a 
good  many  —  rush  round  wildly,  butting 
each  other  and  everything  in  their  way,  and 
end  in  a  general  stampede  for  underground 
retreats  from  the  region  poisoned  by  sun 
shine.  Next  year  you  will  find  the  grass 
growing  tall  and  green  where  the  stone  lay ; 
the  ground-bird  builds  her  nest  where  the 
beetle  had  his  hole ;  the  dandelion  and  the 
buttercup  are  growing  there,  and  the  broad 
fans  of  insect-angels  open  and  shut  over 
their  golden  disks,  as  the  rhythmic  waves  of 
blissful  consciousness  pulsate  through  their 
glorified  being. 

—  The  young  fellow  whom  they  call  John 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  155 

^w  fit  to  say.  in  his  very  familiar  way,  — 
at  which  I  do  noi  choose  to  take  offence, 
but  which  I  sometimes  think  it  necessary  to 
repress,  that  I  was  coming  it  rather  strong 
on  the  butterflies. 

No,  I  replied;  there  is  meaning  in  each 
of  those  images,  —  the  butterfly  as  well  as 
the  others.  The  stone  is  ancient  error. 
The  grass  is  human  nature  borne  down  and 
bleached  of  all  its  color  by  it.  The  shapes 
which  are  found  beneath  are  the  crafty  be 
ings  that  thrive  in  darkness,  and  the  weaker 
organisms  kept  helpless  by  it.  He  who 
turns  the  stone  over  is  whosoever  puts  the 
staff  of  truth  to  the  old  lying  incubus,  no 
matter  whether  he  do  it  with  a  serious  face 
or  a  laughing  one.  The  next  year  stands 
for  the  coming  time.  Then  shall  the  nature 
which  had  lain  blanched  and  broken  rise  in 
its  full  stature  and  native  hues  in  the  sun 
shine.  Then  shall  God's  minstrels  build 
their  nests  in  the  hearts  of  a  newborn  hu 
manity.  Then  shall  beauty  —  Divinity  tak 
ing  outlines  and  color  —  light  upon  the 
souls  of  men  as  the  butterfly,  image  of  the 
beatified  spirit  rising  from  the  dust,  soars 
from  the  shell  that  held  a  poor  grub,  which 
would  never  have  found  wings  had  not  the 
stone  been  lifted. 


156  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

You  never  need  think  you  can  turn  over 
any  old  falsehood  without  a  terrible  squirm 
ing  and  scattering  of  the  horrid  little  popu 
lation  that  dwells  under  it. 

—  Every  real  thought  on  every  real  sub 
ject  knocks  the  wind  out  of  somebody  or 
other.  As  soon  as  his  breath  comes  back, 
he  very  probably  begins  to  expend  it  in 
hard  words.  These  are  the  best  evidence 
a  man  can  have  that  he  has  said  something1 

o 

it  was  time  to  say.  Dr.  Johnson  was  disap 
pointed  in  the  effect  of  one  of  his  pamphlets, 
"  I  think  I  have  not  been  attacked  enougli 
for  it,"  he  said  ;  —  "  attack  is  the  reaction  ; 
I  never  think  I  have  hit  hard  unless  it  re 
bounds." 

-  If  a  fellow  attacked  my  opinions  in 
print  would  I  reply  ?  Not  I.  Do  you  think 
I  don't  understand  what  my  friend,  the 
Professor,  long  ago  called  the  hydrostatic 
paradox  of  controversy  ? 

Don't  know  what  that  means  ?  —  Well,  I 
will  tell  you.  You  know,  that,  if  you  had  a 
bent  tube,  one  arm  of  which  was  of  the  size 
of  a  pipe-stem,  and  the  other  big  enough  to 
hold  the  ocean,  water  would  stand  at  the 
same  height  in  one  as  in  the  other.  Con 
troversy  equalizes  fools  and  wise  men  in  the 
same  way,  —  and  the  fools  know  it. 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  157 

—  No,  but  I  often  read  what  they  say 
about  other  people.  There  are  about  a 
dozen  phrases  which  all  come  tumbling 
along  together,  like  the  tongs,  and  the 
shovel,  and  the  poker,  and  the  brush,  and 
the  bellows,  in  one  of  those  domestic  ava 
lanches  that  everybody  knows.  If  you  get 
one,  you  get  the  whole  lot. 

What  are  they?  —  Oh,  that  depends  a 
good  deal  on  latitude  and  longitude.  Epi 
thets  follow  the  isothermal  lines  pretty  ac 
curately.  Grouping  them  in  two  families, 
one  finds  himself  a  clever,  genial,  witty, 
wise,  brilliant,  sparkling,  thoughtful,  distin 
guished,  celebrated,  illustrious  scholar  and 
perfect  gentleman,  and  first  writer  of  the 
age  ;  or  a  dull,  foolish,  wicked,  pert,  shal 
low,  ignorant,  insolent,  traitorous,  black 
hearted  outcast,  and  disgrace  to  civiliza 
tion. 

What  do  I  think  determines  the  set  of 
phrases  a  man  gets?  —  Well,  I  should  say 
a  set  of  influences  something  like  these :  — 
1st.  Eelationships,  political,  religious,  social, 
domestic.  2d.  Oysters,  in  the  form  of  sup 
pers  given  to  gentlemen  connected  with 
criticism.  I  believe  in  the  school,  the  col 
lege,  and  the  clergy ;  but  my  sovereigi. 
logic,  for  regulating  public  opinion  -  -  which 


158  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

means  commonly  the  opinion  of  half  a  dozen 
of  the  critical  gentry  —  is  the  following. 
Major  proposition.  Oysters  ati  naturd. 
Minor  proposition.  The  same  "  scalloped." 
Conclusion.  That  —  (here  insert  enter 
tainer's  name)  is  clever,  witty,  wise,  bril 
liant,  —  and  the  rest. 

—  No,  it  is  n't  exactly  bribery.  One  man 
has  oysters,  and  another  epithets.  It  is 
an  exchange  of  hospitalities ;  one  gives  a 
"  spread  "  on  linen,  and  the  other  on  paper, 
—  that  is  all.  Don't  you  think  you  and  I 
should  be  apt  to  do  just  so,  if  we  were  in 
the  critical  line  ?  I  am  sure  I  could  n't  re 
sist  the  softening  influences  of  hospitality. 
I  don't  like  to  dine  out,  you  know,  —  I  dine 
so  well  at  our  own  table  [our  landlady 
looked  radiant],  and  the  company  is  so 
pleasant  [a  rustling  movement  of  satisfac 
tion  among  the  boarders]  ;  but  if  I  did  par 
take  of  a  man's  salt,  with  such  additions  as 
that  article  of  food  requires  to  make  it  pala 
table,  I  could  never  abuse  him,  and  if  I  had 
to  speak  of  him,  I  suppose  I  should  hang 
my  set  of  jingling  epithets  round  him  like1 
a  string  of  sleigh-bells.  .Good  feeling  helps 
society  to  make  liars  of  most  of  us,  —  not 
absolute  liars,  but  such  careless  handlers  of 
truth  that  its  sharp  corners  get  terribly 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  159 

rounded.  I  love  truth  as  chief est  among 
the  virtues ;  I  trust  it  runs  in  my  blood ; 
but  I  would  never  be  a  critic,  because  I 
know  I  could  not  always  tell  it.  I  might 
write  a  criticism  of  a  book  that  happened  to 
please  me  ;  that  is  another  matter. 

—  Listen,  Benjamin  Franklin  !  This  is 
for  you,  and  such  others  of  tender  age  as 
you  may  tell  it  to. 

When  we  are  as  yet  small  children,  long 
before  the  time  when  those  two  grown  la 
dies  offer  us  the  choice  of  Hercules,  there 
comes  up  to  us  a  youthful  angel,  holding  in 
his  right  hand  cubes  like  dice,  and  in  his 
left  spheres  like  marbles.  The  cubes  are  of 
stainless  ivory,  and  on  each  is  written  in  let 
ters  of  gold  —  TRUTH.  The  spheres  are 
veined  and  streaked  and  spotted  beneath, 
with  a  dark  crimson  flush  above,  where  the 
light  falls  on  them,  and  in  a  certain  aspect 
you  can  make  out  upon  every  one  of  them 
the  three  letters  L,  I,  E.  The  child  to  whom 
they  are  offered  very  probably  clutches  at 
both.  The  spheres  are  the  most  convenient 
things  in  the  world  ;  they  roll  with  the  least 
possible  impulse  just  where  the  child  would 
have  them.  The  cubes  will  not  roll  at  all ; 
they  have  a  great  talent  for  standing  still, 
and  always  keep  right  side  up.  But  very 


160  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

soon  the  young  philosopher  finds  that  things 
which  roll  so  easily  are  very  apt  to  roll  into 
the  wrong  corner,  and  to  get  out  of  his  way 
when  he  most  wants  them,  while  he  always 
knows  where  to  find  the  others,  which  stay 
where  they  are  left.  Thus  he  learns  —  thus 
we  learn  —  to  drop  the  streaked  and  speck 
led  globes  of  falsehood  and  to  hold  fast  the 
white  angular  blocks  of  truth.  But  then 
comes  Timidity,  and  after  her  Good-nature, 
and  last  of  all  Polite-behavior,  all  insisting 
that  truth  must  roll,  or  nobody  can  do  any 
thing  with  it ;  and  so  the  first  with  her 
coarse  rasp,  and  the  second  with  her  broad 
file,  and  the  third  with  her  silken  sleeve,  do 
so  round  off  and  smooth  and  polish  the 
snow-white  cubes  of  truth,  that,  when  they 
have  got  a  little  dingy  by  use,  it  becomes 
hard  to  tell  them  from  the  rolling  spheres 
of  falsehood. 

The  schoolmistress  was  polite  enough  to 
say  that  she  was  pleased  with  this,  and  that 
she  would  read  it  to  her  little  flock  the  next 
day.  But  she  should  tell  the  children,  she 
said,  that  there  were  better  reasons  for  truth 
than  could  be  found  in  mere  experience  of 
its  convenience  and  the  inconvenience  o: 
lying. 

Yes,  -  —  I  said,  —  but  education  always  be- 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  161 

-ins  through  the  senses,  and  works  up  to 
he  idea  of  absolute  right  and  wrong.  The 
irst  thing  the  child  has  to  learn  about  this 
matter  is,  that  lying  is  unprofitable,  —  after 
wards  that  it  is  against  the  peace  and  dig 
nity  of  the  universe. 

-  Do  I  think  that  the  particular  form  of 
lying  often  seen  in  newspapers,  under  the 
title,  "  From  our  Foreign  Correspondent," 
does  any  harm  ?  —  Why,  no,  —  I  don't  know 
that  it  does.  I  suppose  it  does  n't  really  de 
ceive  people  any  more  than  the  "Arabian 
Nights  "  or  "  Gulliver's  Travels  "  do.  Some 
times  the  writers  compile  too  carelessly, 
though,  and  mix  up  facts  out  of  geogra 
phies,  and  stories  out  of  the  penny  papers, 
so  as  to  mislead  those  who  are  desirous  of 
information.  I  cut  a  piece  out  of  one  of 
the  papers  the  other  day,  which  contains  a 
number  of  improbabilities,  and,  I  suspect, 
misstatements.  I  will  send  up  and  get  it 
for  you,  if  you  would  like  to  hear  it.  —  Ah, 
this  is  it ;  it  is  headed 

"  OUR  SUMATRA  CORRESPONDENCE, 

"  This  island  is  now  the  property  of  tha 
Stamford  family,  —  having  been  won,  it  is 
said,  in  a  raffle,  by  Sir  —  -  Stamford,  dur 
ing  the  stock-gambling  mania  of  the  South- 


162  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Sea  Scheme.  The  history  of  this  gentleman 
may  be  found  in  an  interesting  series  oi 
questions  (unfortunately  not  yet  answered) 
contained  in  the  ;  Notes  and  Queries.'  This 
island  is  entirely  surrounded  by  the  ocean, 
which  here  contains  a  large  amount  of  saline 
substance,  crystallizing  in  cubes  remarkable 
for  their  symmetry,  and  frequently  displays 
on  its  surface,  during  calm  weather,  the 
rainbow  tints  of  the  celebrated  South-Sea 
bubbles.  The  summers  are  oppressively  hot, 
and  the  winters  very  probably  cold  ;  but 
this  fact  cannot  be  ascertained  precisely,  as, 
for  some  peculiar  reason,  the  mercury  in 
these  latitudes  never  shrinks,  as  in  more 
northern  regions,  and  thus  the  thermometer 
is  rendered. useless  in  winter. 

"  The  principal  vegetable  productions  of 
the  island  are  the  pepper  tree  and  the  bread 
fruit  tree.  Pepper  being  very  abundantly 
produced,  a  benevolent  society  was  organ 
ized  in  London  during  the  last  century  for 
supplying  the  natives  with  vinegar  and  oys 
ters,  as  an  addition  to  that  delightful  con 
diment.  [Note  received  from  Dr.  D.  P.] 
It  is  said,  however,  that,  as  the  oysters  were 
of -the  kind  called  natives  in  England,  tha 
natives  of  Sumatra,  in  obedience  to  a  nat 
ural  instinct,  refused  to  touch  them,  and 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  163 

confined  themselves  entirely  to  the  crew  of 
the  vessel  in  which  they  were  brought  over. 
This  information  was  received  from  one  of 
the  oldest  inhabitants,  a  native  himself,  and 
exceedingly  fond  of  missionaries.  He  is 
said  also  to  be  very  skilful  in  the  cuisine 
peculiar  to  the  island. 

"  During  the  season  of  gathering  the  pep 
per,  the  persons  employed  are  subject  to 
various  incommodities,  the  chief  of  which  is 
violent  and  long-continued  sternutation,  or 
sneezing.  Such  is  the  vehemence  of  these 
attacks,  that  the  unfortunate  subjects  of 
them  are  often  driven  backwards  for  great 
distances  at  immense  speed,  on  the  well- 
known  principle  of  the  aeolipile.  Not  being 
able  to  see  where  they  are  going,  these  poor 
creatures  dash  themselves  to  pieces  against 
the  rocks  or  are  precipitated  over  the  cliffs 
and  thus  many  valuable  lives  are  lost  annu 
ally.  As,  during  the  whole  pepper-harvest, 
they  feed  exclusively  on  this  stimulant,  they 
become  exceedingly  irritable.  The  smallest 
injury  is  resented  with  ungovernable  rage. 
A.  young  man  suffering  from  the  pepper- 
fever,  as  it  is  called,  cudgelled  another  most 
severely  for  appropriating  a  superannuated 
relative  of  trifling  value,  and  was  only  paci 
fied  by  having  a  present  made  him  of  a  pig 


164  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

of  that  peculiar  species  of  swine  called  the 
jPeccavi  by  the  Catholic  Jews,  who,  it  is 
well  known,  abstain  from  swine's  flesh  in 
imitation  of  the  Mahometan  Buddhists. 

"  The  bread-tree  grows  abundantly.  Its 
branches  are  well  known  to  Europe  and 
America  under  the  familiar  name  of  macca- 
roni.  The  smaller  twigs  are  called  vermi 
celli.  They  have  a  decided  animal  flavor, 
as  may  be  observed  in  the  soups  containing 
them.  Maccaroni,  being  tubular,  is  the  fa- 
vorite  habitat  of  a  very  dangerous  insect, 
which  is  rendered  peculiarly  ferocious  by 
being  boiled.  The  government  of  the  island, 
therefore,  never  allows  a  stick  of  it  to  be 
exported  without  being  accompanied  by  a 
piston  with  which  its  cavity  may  at  any  time 
be  thoroughly  swept  out.  These  are  com 
monly  lost  or  stolen  before  the  maccaroni 
arrives  among  us.  It  therefore  always  con 
tains  many  of  these  insects,  which,  however, 
generally  die  of  old  age  in  the  shops,  so  that 
accidents  from  this  source  are  comparatively 
rare. 

"  The  fruit  of  the  bread-tree  consists  prin 
cipally  of  hot  rolls.  The  buttered  -  muffin 
variety  is  supposed  to  be  a  hybrid  with  the 
cocoa-nut  palm,  the  cream  found  on  the  milk 
of  the  cocoa-nut  exuding  from  the  hybrid 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  165 

in  the  shape  of  butter,  just  as  the  ripe  fruit 
is  splitting,  so  as  to  fit  it  for  the  tea-ta 
ble,  where  it  is  commonly  served  up  with 
cold"  — 

-  There,  —  I  don't  want  to  read  any 
more  of  it.  You  see  that  many  of  these 
statements  are  highly  improbable.  —  No,  I 
shall  not  mention  the  paper.  —  No,  neither 
of  them  wrote  it,  though  it  reminds  me  of 
the  style  of  these  popular  writers.  I  think 
the  fellow  who  wrote  it  must  have  been 
reading  some  of  their  stories,  and  got  them 
mixed  up  with  his  history  and  geography. 
I  don't  suppose  JIG  lies  — he  sells  it  to  the 
editor,  who  knows  how  many  squares  off 
"  Sumatra  "  is.  The  editor,  who  sells  it  to 
the  public  —  By  the  way,  the  papers  have 
been  very  civil  —  have  n't  they  ?  — to  the  — 
the  —  what  d'  ye  call  it  ?  —  "  Northern  Mag 
azine," —  isn't  it? — got  up  by  some  of 
those  Gome-outers,  down  East,  as  an  organ 
for  their  local  peculiarities. 

—  The  Professor  has  been  to  see  me. 
Came  in,  glorious,  at  about  twelve  o'clock, 
last  night.  Said  he  had  been  with  "the 
boys."  On  inquiry,  found  that  "the  boys" 
were  certain  baldish  and  grayish  old  gentle 
men  that  one  sees  or  hears  of  in  various  im 
portant  stations  of  society.  The  Professor 


166  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

is  one  of  the  same  set,  but  he  always  talks 
as  if  he  had  been  out  of  college  about  ten 

years,   whereas [Each   of 

these  dots  was  a  little  nod,  which  the  com 
pany  understood,  as  the  reader  will,  no 
doubt.]  He  calls  them  sometimes  "  the 
boys/'  and  sometimes  "  the  old  fellows." 
Call  him  by  the  latter  title,  and  see  how  he 
likes  it.  —  Well,  he  came  in  last  night  glo 
rious,  as  I  was  saying.  Of  course  I  don't 
mean  variously  exalted ;  he  drinks  little  wine 
on  such  occasions,  and  is  well  known  to  all 
the  Peters  and  Patricks  as  the  gentleman 
who  always  has  indefinite  quantities  of  black 
tea  to  kill  any  extra  glass  of  red  claret  he 
may  have  swallowed.  But  the  Professor 
says  he  always  gets  tipsy  on  old  memories 
at  these  gatherings.  He  was,  I  forget  how 
many  years  old  when  he  went  to  the  meet 
ing  ;  just  turned  of  twenty  now,  —  he  said. 
He  made  various  youthful  proposals  to  me, 
including  a  duet  under  the  landlady' s  daugh 
ter's  window.  He  had  just  learned  a  trick, 
he  said,  of  one  of  "  the  boys,"  of  getting  a 
splendid  bass  out  of  a  door-panel  by  rub 
bing  it  with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Offered 
to  sing  "  The  sky  is  bright,''  accompanying 
himself  on  the  front -door,  if  I  would  go 
down  and  help  in  the  chorus.  Said  there 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  167 

never  was  such  a  set  of  fellows  as  the  old 
boys  of  the  set  he  has  been  with.  Judges, 
mayors,  Congress-men,  Mr.  Speakers,  lead 
ers  in  science,  clergymen  better  than  famous, 
and  famous  too,  poets  by  the  half-dozen, 
singers  with  voices  like  angels,  financiers, 
wits,  three  of  the  best  laughers  in  the  Com 
monwealth,  engineers,  agriculturists,  —  all 
forms  of  talent  and  knowledge  he  pretended 
were  represented  in  that  meeting.  Then  he 
began  to  quote  Byron  about  Santa  Croce, 
and  maintained  that  he  could  "  furnish  out 
creation  "  in  all  its  details  from  that  set  of 
his.  He  would  like  to  have  the  whole  boo 
dle  of  them  (I  remonstrated  against  this 
word,  but  the  Professor  said  it  was  a  diabol- 
ish  good  word,  and  he  would  have  no  other), 
with  their  wives  and  children  shipwrecked 
on  a  remote  island,  just  to  see  how  splen 
didly  they  would  reorganize  society.  They 
could  build  a  city,  —  they  have  done  it ;  make 
constitutions  and  laws  ;  establish  churches 
and  lyceums  ;  teach  and  practise  the  healing 
art ;  instruct  in  every  department ;  found 
observatories  ;  create  commerce  and  manu 
factures  ;  write  songs  and  hymns,  and  sing 
'em,  and  make  instruments  to  accompany 
the  songs  with ;  lastly,  publish  a  journal  al 
most  as  good  as  the  "  Northern  Magazine," 


168  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

edited  by  the  Gome-outers.  There  was  noth 
ing  they  were  not  up  to,  from  a  christening 
to  a  hanging ;  the  last,  to  be  sure,  could 
never  be  called  for,  unless  some  stranger  got 
in  among  them. 

—  I  let  the  Professor  talk  as  long  as  he 
liked ;  it  did  n't  make  much  difference  to 
me  whether  it  was  all  truth,  or  partly  made 
up  of  pale  Sherry  and  similar  elements. 
All  at  once  he  jumped  up  and  said,  — 

Don't  you  want  to  hear  what  I  just  read 
to  the  boys  ? 

I  have  had  questions  of  a  similar  charac 
ter  asked  me  before,  occasionally.  A  man 
of  iron  mould  might  perhaps  say,  No !  I 
am  not  a  man  of  iron  mould,  and  said  that 
I  should  be  delighted. 

The  Professor  then  read  —  with  that 
slightly  sing-song  cadence  which  is  observed 
to  be  common  in  poets  reading  their  own 
verses  —  the  following  stanzas ;  holding 
them  at  a  focal  distance  of  about  two  feet 
and  a  half,  with  an  occasional  movement 
back  or  forward  for  better  adjustment,  the 
appearance  of  which  has  been  likened  by 
some  impertinent  young  folks  to  that  of  the 
act  of  playing  on  the  trombone.  His  eye 
sight  was  never  better;  I  have  his  word 
for  it. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  169 


MARE  RUBRUM. 

Flash  out  a  stream  of  blood-red  wine !  — 

For  I  would  drink  to  other  days  ; 
And  brighter  shall  their  memory  shine, 

Seen  flaming1  through  its  crimson  blaze. 
The  roses  die,  the  summers  fade ; 

But  every  ghost  of  boyhood's  dream 
By  Nature's  magic  power  is  laid 

To  sleep  beneath  this  blood-red  stream. 

It  filled  the  purple  grapes  that  lay 

And  drank  the  splendors  of  the  sun 
Where  the  long  summer's  cloudless  day 

Is  mirrored  in  the  broad  Garonne  ; 
It  pictures  still  the  bacchant  shapes 

That  saw  their  hoarded  sunlight  shed,  — 
The  maidens  dancing  on  the  grapes,  — 

Their  milk-white  ankles  splashed  with  red. 

Beneath  these  waves  of  crimson  lie, 

In  rosy  fetters  prisoned  fast, 
Those  flitting  shapes  that  never  die, 

The  swift-winged  visions  of  the  past. 
Kiss  but  the  crystal's  mystic  rim, 

Each  shadow  rends  its  flowery  chain, 
Springs  in  a  bubble  from  its  brim 

And  walks  the  chambers  of  the  brain. 

Poor  Beauty  !  time  and  fortune's  wrong 

No  form  nor  feature  may  withstand,  — = 
Thy  wrecks  are  scattered  all  along, 

Like  emptied  sea-shells  on  the  sand  ;  — 
Yet,  sprinkled  with  this  blushing  rain, 

The  dust  restores  each  blooming  girl, 
As  if  the  sea-shells  moved  again 

Their  glistening  lips  of  pink  and  pearl 


170  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Here  lies  the  home  of  school-boy  life, 

With  creaking-  stair  and  wind-swept  hall; 
And,  scarred  by  many  a  truant  knife, 

Our  old  initials  on  the  wall ; 
Here  rest  —  their  keen  vibrations  mute  — 

The  shout  of  voices  known  so  well, 
The  ringing  laugh,  the  wailing1  flute. 

The  chiding  of  the  sharp -tongue  d  beii. 

Here,  clad  in  burning  robes,  are  laid 

Life's  blossomed  joys,  untimely  shed  ; 
And  here  those  cherished  forms  have  strayed 

We  miss  awhile,  and  call  them  dead. 
What  wizard  fills  the  maddening  glass  ? 

What  soil  the  enchanted  clusters  grew, 
That  buried  passions  wake  and  pass 

In  beaded  drops  of  fiery  dew  ? 

Nay,  take  the  cup  of  blood-red  wine,  — 

Our  hearts  can  boast  a  warmer  glow, 
Filled  from  a  vintage  more  divine,  — 

Calmed,  but  not  chilled  by  Avinter's  snow  ! 
To-night  the  palest  wave  we  sip 

Rich  as  the  priceless  draught  shall  be 
That  wet  the  bride  of  Cana's  lip,  — 

The  wedding  wine  of  Galilee ! 


VI. 


SIN  has  many  tools,  but  a  lie  is  the  haii 
die  which  fits  them  all. 

—  I  think,  Sir,  —  said  the  divinity  -  stu 
dent,  —  you  must  intend  that  for  one  of  the 
sayings  of  the  Seven  Wise  Men  of  Boston 
you  were  speaking  of  the  other  day. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  171 

I  thank  you,  my  young  friend,  —  was  my 
eply,  —  but  I  must  say  something  better 
than  that,  before  I  could  pretend  to  fill  out 
the  number. 

— The  schoolmistress  wanted  to  know  how 
many  of  these  sayings  there  were  on  record, 
and  what,  and  by  whom  said. 

—  Why,  lei?  us  see,  —  there  is  that  one  of 
Benjamin  Franklin,  "  the  great  Bostonian," 
after  whom    this  lad  was    named.     To    be 
sure,  he  said  a  great  many  wise  things,  — 
and  I  don't  feel  sure  he  did  n't  borrow  this, 

-  he  speaks  as  if  it  were  old.  But  then  he 
applied  it  so  neatly !  — 

"  He  that  has  once  done  you  a  kindness 
will  be  more  ready  to  do  you  another  than 
he  whom  you  yourself  have  obliged." 

Then  there  is  that  glorious  Epicurean 
paradox,  uttered  by  my  friend,  the  Histo 
rian,  in  one  of  his  flashing  moments :  — 

"  Give  us  the  luxuries  of  life,  and  we  will 
dispense  with  its  necessaries." 

To  these  must  certainly  be  added  that 
other  saying  of  one  of  the  wittiest  of  men :  — 

"  Good  Americans,  when  they  die,  go  to 
Paris." 

—  The  divinity-student  looked  grave  at 
this,  but  said  nothing. 

The  schoolmistress  spoke  out,  and  said  she 


172  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

did  n't  think  the  wit  meant  any  irreverence. 
It  was  only  another  way  of  saying,  Paris 
is  a  heavenly  place  after  New  York  or  Bos 
ton. 

A  jaunty-looking  person,  who  had  comt 
in  with  the  young  fellow  they  call  John,  — 
evidently  a  stranger,  —  said  there  was  one 
more  wise  man's  saying  that  he  had  heard  ; 
it  was  about  our  place,  but  he  did  n't  know 
who  said  it.  —  A  civil  curiosity  was  mani 
fested  by  the  company  to  hear  the  fourth 
wise  saying.  I  heard  him  distinctly  whis 
pering  to  the  young  fellow  who  brought  him 
to  dinner,  Shall  I  tell  it  ?  To  which  the 
answer  was,  Go  ahead  !  —  Well,  —  he  said, 
—  this  was  what  I  heard  :  — 

"  Boston  State-House  is  the  hub  of  the 
solar  system.  You  could  n't  pry  that  out 
of  a  Boston  man  if  you  had  the  tire  of  all 
creation  straightened  out  for  a  crowbar." 

Sir,  —  said  I,  —  I  am  gratified  with  your 
remark.  It  expresses  with  pleasing  vivacity 
that  which  I  have  sometimes  heard  uttered 
with  malignant  dulness.  The  satire  of  the 
remark  is  essentially  true  of  Boston,  —  and 
of  all  other  considerable,  —  and  inconsider 
able,  —  places  with  which  I  have  had  the 
privilege  of  being  acquainted.  Cockneys 
think  London  is  the  only  place  in  the  world. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  173 

Frenchmen  —  you  remember  the  line  about 
Paris,  the  Court,  the  World,  etc.  —  I  recol 
lect  well,  by  the  way,  a  sign  in  that  city 
which  ran  thus  :  "  Hotel  de  1'Univers  et  deg 
Etats  Unis ; "  and  as  Paris  is  the  universe 
to  a  Frenchman,  of  course  the  United  States 
are  outside  of  it.  —  "  See  Naples  and  then 
die."  It  is  quite  as  bad  with  smaller  places. 
I  have  been  about,  lecturing,  you  know,  and 
have  found  the  following  propositions  to 
hold  true  of  all  of  them. 

1.  The  axis  of  the  earth  sticks  out  visibly 
through  the  centre  of  each  and  every  town 
or  city. 

2.  If  more  than  fifty  years  have  passed 
since    its    foundation,    it    is    affectionately 
styled  by  the    inhabitants  the    "  good   old 
town  of" — (whatever  its  name  may  hap 
pen  to  be.) 

3.  Every  collection  of  its  inhabitants  that 
conies  together  to  listen  to  a  stranger  is  in 
variably  declared  to  be  a  "  remarkably  in 
telligent  audience." 

4.  The  climate  of  the  place  is  particularly 
favorable  to  longevity. 

5.  It  contains  several  persons  of  vast  tal 
ent  little  known  to  the  world.     (One  or  twc 
of  them,  you  may  perhaps  chance  to  remem 
ber,  sent  short  pieces  to  the  "Pactolian" 


174  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

some  time  since,  which  were   "  respectfully 
declined.") 

Boston  is  just  like  other  places  of  its  size : 
—  only,  perhaps,  considering  its  excellent 
fish-market,  paid  fire-department,  superior 
monthly  publications,  and  correct  habit  of 
spelling  the  English  language,  it  has  some 
right  to  look  down  on  the  mob  of  cities.  I  '11 
tell  you,  though,  if  you  want  to  know  it, 
what  is  the  real  offence  of  Boston.  It  drains 
a  large  water-shed  of  its  intellect,  and  will 
not  itself  be  drained.  If  it  would  only  send 
away  its  first-rate  men,  instead  of  its  second- 
rate  ones  (no  offence  to  the  well-known  ex 
ceptions,  of  which  we  are  always  proud), 
we  should  be  spared  such  epigrammatic  re 
marks  as  that  which  the  gentleman  has 
quoted.  There  can  never  be  a  real  metrop 
olis  in  this  country,  until  the  biggest  centre 
can  drain  the  lesser  ones  of  their  talent  and 
wealth.  —  I  have  observed,  by  the  way,  that 
the  people  who  really  live  in  two  great  cities 
are  by  no  means  so  jealous  of  each  other  as 
are  those  of  smaller  cities  situated  within  the 
intellectual  basin,  or  suction-range,  of  one 
large  one,  of  the  pretensions  of  any  other. 
Don't  you  see  why  ?  Because  their  prom 
ising  young  author  and  rising  lawyer  and 
large  capitalist  have  been  drained  off  to  the 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  175 

neighboring  big  city,  —  their  prettiest  girl 
has  been  exported  to  the  same  market ;  all 
their  ambition  points  there,  and  all  their  thin 
gilding  of  glory  comes  from  there.  I  hate 
little  toad-eating  cities. 

—  Would  I  be  so  good  as  to  specify  any 
particular  example  ?  —  Oh,  —  an  example  ? 
Did  you  ever  see  a  bear -trap?  Never? 
Well,  should  n't  you  like  to  see  me  put  my 
foot  into  one  ?  With  sentiments  of  the 
highest  consideration  I  must  beg  leave  to  be 
excused. 

Besides,  some  of  the  smaller  cities  are 
charming.  If  they  have  an  old  church  or 
two,  a  few  stately  mansions  of  former  gran 
dees,  here  and  there  an  old  dwelling  with 
the  second  story  projecting  (for  the  conven 
ience  of  shooting  the  Indians  knocking  at 
the  front-door  with  their  tomahawks),  —  if 
they  have,  scattered  about,  those  mighty 
square  houses  built  something  more  than 
half  a  century  ago,  and  standing  like  archi 
tectural  boulders  dropped  by  the  former 
diluvium  of  wealth,  whose  refluent  wave  has 
left  them  as  its  monument,  —  if  they  have 
gardens  with  elbowed  apple-trees  that  push 
their  branches  over  the  high  board -fence 
and  drop  their  fruit  on  the  side-walk,  —  if 
they  have  a  little  grass  in  the  side-streets, 


176  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

enough  to  betoken  quiet  without  proclaim 
ing  decay,  —  I  think  I  could  go  to  pieces, 
after  my  life's  work  were  done,  in  one  of 
those  tranquil  places,  as  sweetly  as  in  any 
cradle  that  an  old  man  may  be  rocked  to 
sleep  in.  I  visit  such  spots  always  with 
infinite  delight.  My  friend,  the  Poet,  says, 
that  rapidly  growing  towns  are  most  unfa 
vorable  to  the  imaginative  and  reflective 
faculties.  Let  a  man  live  in  one  of  these 
old  quiet  places,  he  says,  and  the  wine  of 
his  soul,  which  is  kept  thick  and  turbid  by 
the  rattle  of  busy  streets,  settles,  and,  as  you 
hold  it  up,  you  may  see  the  sun  through  it 
by  day  and  the  stars  by  night. 

—  Do  I  think  that  the  little  villages  have 
the  conceit  of  the  great  towns  ?  —  I  don't 
believe  there  is  much  difference.    You  know 
how  they  read  Pope's  line  in  the  smallest 
town    in    our    State    of    Massachusetts  ?  — 
Well,  they  read  it 

"  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  HULL!  " 

—  Every  person's  feelings  have  a  front 
door  and  a  side-door  by  which  they  may  be 
entered.     The  front-door  is  on  the    street. 
Some   keep  it   always   open ;  some   keep   it 
latched  ;  some,  locked  ;  some,  bolted,  —  with 
a  chain  that  will  let  you  peep  in,  but  not 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  177 

get  in ;  and  some  nail  it  up,  so  that  nothing 
can  pass  its  threshold.  This  front-door  leads 
into  a  passage  which  opens  into  an  ante 
room,  and  this  into  the  interior  apartments. 
The  side-door  opens  at  once  into  the  sacred 
chambers. 

There  is  almost  always  at  least  one  key  to 
this  side-door.  This  is  carried  for  years  hid 
den  in  a  mother's  bosom.  Fathers,  brothers, 
sisters,  and  friends,  often,  but  by  no  means 
so  universally,  have  duplicates  of  it.  The 
wedding-ring  conveys  a  right  to  one  ;  alas, 
if  none  is  given  with  it ! 

If  nature  or  accident  has  put  one  of  these 
keys  into  the  hands  of  a  person  who  has  the 
torturing  instinct,  I  can  only  solemnly  pro 
nounce  the  words  that  Justice  utters  over 
its  doomed  victim,  —  TJie  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul !  You  will  probably  go  mad 
within  a  reasonable  time,  —  or,  if  you  are  a 
man,  run  off  and  die  with  your  head  on  a 
c'urb-stone,  in  Melbourne  or  San  Francisco, 
—  or,  if  you  are  a  woman,  quarrel  and  break 
your  heart,  or,  turn  into  a  pale,  jointed  pet- 
rification  that  moves  about  as  if  it  were 
alive,  or  play  some  real  life  -  tragedy  or 
other. 

Be  very  careful  to  whom  you  trust  one  of 
these  keys  of  the  side -door.      The  fact  of 


178  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

possessing  one  renders  those  even  who  are 
clear  to  you  very  terrible  at  times.  You  can 
keep  the  world  out  from  your  front-door,  or 
receive  visitors  only  when  you  are  ready  for 
them ;  but  those  of  your  own  flesh  and 
blood,  or  of  certain  grades  of  intimacy,  can 
come  in  at  the  side-door,  if  they  will,  at  any 
hour  and  in  any  mood.  Some  of  them  have 
a  scale  of  your  whole  nervous  system,  and 
can  play  all  the  gamut  of  your  sensibilities 
in  semi-tones,  —  touching  the  naked  nerve- 
pulps  as  a  pianist  strikes  the  keys  of  his  in 
strument.  I  am  satisfied  that  there  are  as 
great  masters  of  this  nerve-playing  as  Vieux- 
temps  or  Thalberg  in  their  lines  of  perform 
ance.  Married  life  is  the  school  in  which 
the  most  accomplished  artists  in  this  depart 
ment  are  found.  A  delicate  woman  is  the 
best  instrument ;  she  has  such  a  magnificent 
compass  of  sensibilities !  From  the  deep 
inward  moan  which  follows  pressure  on  the 
great  nerves  of  right,  to  the  sharp  cry  as 
the  filaments  of  taste  are  struck  with  a 
crashing  sweep,  is  a  range  which  no  other 
instrument  possesses.  A  few  exercises  on  it 
daily  at  home  fit  a  man  wonderfully  for  his 
habitual  labors,  and  refresh  him  immensely 
as  he  returns  from  them.  No  stranger  can 
get  a  great  many  notes  of  torture  out  of  a 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  179 

human  soul ;  it  takes  one  that  knows  it  well, 
-  parent,  child,  brother,  sister,  intimate. 
Be  very  careful  to  whom  you  give  a  side- 
door  key ;  too  many  have  them  already. 

—  You  remember  the  old  story  of  the 
tender-hearted  man,  who  placed  a  frozen 
viper  in  his  bosom,  and  was  stung  by  it 
when  it  became  thawed  ?  If  we  take  a  cold 
blooded  creature  into  our  bosom,  better  that 
it  should  sting  us  and  we  should  die  than 
that  its  chill  should  slowly  steal  into  our 
hearts  ;  warm  it  we  never  can !  I  have  seen 
faces  of  women  that  were  fair  to  look  upon, 
yet  one  could  see  that  the  icicles  were  form 
ing  round  these  women's  hearts.  I  knew 
what  freezing  image  lay  on  the  white  breasts 
beneath  the  laces  ! 

A  very  simple  intellectual  mechanism  an 
swers  the  necessities  of  friendship,  and  even 
of  the  most  intimate  relations  of  life.  If  a 
watch  tells  us  the  hour  and  the  minute,  we 
can  be  content  to  carry  it  about  with  us  for 
a  life-time,  though  it  has  no  second-hand  and 
is  not  a  repeater,  nor  a  musical  watch,  — 
though  it  is  not  enamelled  nor  jewelled,  — 
in  short,  though  it  has  little  beyond  the 
wheels  required  for  a  trustworthy  instru 
ment,  added  to  a  good  face  and  a  pair  of 
useful  hands.  The  more  wheels  there  are 


180  THE  AUTOCRAT  OP' 

in  a  watch  or  a  brain,  the  more  trouble  they 
are  to  take  care  of.  The  movements  of  ex 
altation  which  belong  to  genius  are  egotistic 
by  their  very  nature.  A  calm,  clear  mind, 
not  subject  to  the  spasms  and  crises  which 
are  so  often  met  with  in  creative  or  intensely 
perceptive  natures,  is  the  best  basis  for  love 
or  friendship.  —  Observe,  I  am  talking  about 
minds.  I  won't  say,  the  more  intellect,  the 
less  capacity  for  loving  ;  for  that  would  do 
wrong  to  the  understanding  and  reason  ;  — 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  brain  often 
runs  away  with  the  heart's  best  blood,  which 
gives  the  world  a  few  pages  of  wisdom  or 
sentiment  or  poetry,  instead  of  making  one 
other  heart  happy,  I  have  no  question. 

If  one's  intimate  in  love  or  friendship 
cannot  or  does  not  share  all  one's  intellec 
tual  tastes  or  pursuits,  that  is  a  small  matter. 
Intellectual  companions  can  be  found  easily 
in  men  and  books.  After  all,  if  we  think 
of  it,. most  of  the  world's  loves  and  friend 
ships  have  been  between  people  that  could 
not  read  nor  spell. 

But  to  radiate  the  heat  of  the  affections 
into  a  clod,  which  absorbs  all  that  is  poured 
into  it,  but  never  warms  beneath  the  sun 
shine  of  smiles  or  the  pressure  of  hand  or 
lip,  —  this  is  the  great  martyrdom  of  sensi- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  181 

tive  beings, — most  of  all  in  that  perpetual 
auto  da  fe  where  young  womanhood  is  the 
sacrifice. 

—  You  noticed,  perhaps,  what  I  just  said 
about  the  loves  and  friendships  of  illiterate 
persons,  —  that  is,  of  the  human  race,  with 
a  few  exceptions  here  and  there.  I  like 
books,  —  I  was  born  and  bred  among  them, 
and  have  the  easy  feeling,  when  I  get  into 
their  presence,  that  a  stable-boy  has  among 
horses.  I  don't  think  I  undervalue  them 
either  as  companions  or  instructors.  But  I 
can't  help  remembering  that  the  world's 
great  men  have  not  commonly  been  great 
scholars,  nor  its  great  scholars  great  men. 
The  Hebrew  patriarchs  had  small  libraries, 
I  think,  if  any  ;  yet  they  represent  to  our 
imaginations  a  very  complete  idea  of  man 
hood,  and,  I  think,  if  we  could  ask  in  Abra 
ham  to  dine  with  us  men  of  letters  next 
Saturday,  we  should  feel  honored  by  his 
company. 

What  I  wanted  to  say  about  books  is 
this :  that  there  are  times  in  which  every 
active  mind  feels  itself  above  any  and  all 
human  books. 

- 1  think  a  man  must  have  a  good  opin 
ion  of  himself,  Sir,  —  said  the  divinity-stu 
dent,  —  who  should  feel  himself  above 
Shakspeare  at  any  time. 


182  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

My  young  friend,  —  I  replied,  —  the  man 
who  is  never  conscious  of  a  state  of  feel 
ing  or  of  intellectual  effort  entirely  beyond 
expression  by  any  form  of  words  whatso 
ever  is  a  mere  creature  of  language.  I 
can  hardly  believe  there  are  any  such  men. 
Why  think  for  a  moment  of  the  power  of 
music.  The  nerves  that  make  us  alive  to  it 
spread  out  (so  the  Professor  tells  me)  in 
the  most  sensitive  region  of  the  marrow, 
just  where  it  is  widening  to  run  upwards 
into  the  hemispheres.  It  has  its  seat  in  the 
region  of  sense  rather  than  of  thought.  Yet 
it  produces  a  continuous  and,  as  it  were, 
logical  sequence  of  emotional  and  intellec 
tual  changes  ;  but  how  different  from  trains 
of  thought  proper !  how  entirely  beyond  the 
reach  of  symbols !  —  Think  of  human  pas 
sions  as  compared  with  all  phrases  !  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  a  man's  growing  lean  by 
the  reading  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  or  blow 
ing  his  brains  out  because  Desdemona  was 
maligned  ?  There  are  a  good  many  symbols, 
even,  that  are  more  expressive  than  words. 
I  remember  a  young  wife  who  had  to  part 
with  her  husband  for  a  time.  She  did  not 
write  a  mournful  poem ;  indeed,  she  was  a 
silent  person,  and  perhaps  hardly  said  a 
word  about  it ;  but  she  quietly  turned  of  a 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  183 

deep  orange  color  with  jaundice.  A  great 
many  people  in  this  world  have  but  one 
form  of  rhetoric  for  their  profoundest  expe 
riences,  —  namely,  to  waste  away  and  die. 
When  a  man  can  read,  his  paroxysm  of  feel 
ing  is  passing.  When  he  can  read,  his 
thought  has  slackened  its  hold.  —  You  talk 
about  reading  Shakspeare,  using  him  as  an 
expression  for  the  highest  intellect,  and  you 
wonder  that  any  common  person  should  be 
so  presumptuous  as  to  suppose  his  thought 
can  rise  above  the  text  which  lies  before 
him.  But  think  a  moment.  A  child's  read 
ing  of  Shakspeare  is  one  thing,  and  Cole 
ridge's  or  Schlegel's  reading  of  him  is  an 
other.  The  saturation  -  point  of  each  mind 
differs  from  that  of  every  other.  But  I 
think  it  is  as  true  for  the  small  mind  which 
can  only  take  up  a  little  as  for  the  great  one 
which  takes  up  much,  that  the  suggestive 
trains  of  thought  and  feeling  ought  always 
to  rise  above  —  not  the  author,  but  the  read 
er's  mental  version  of  the  author,  whoever 
he  may  be. 

I  think  most  readers  of  Shakspeare  some 
times  find  themselves  thrown  into  exalted 
mental  conditions  like  those  produced  by 
music.  Then  they  may  drop  the  book,  to 
pass  at  once  into  the  region  of  thought  with- 


184  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

out  words.  We  may  happen  to  be  very  dull 
folks,  you  and  I,  and  probably  are,  unless 
there  is  some  particular  reason  to  suppose 
the  contrary.  But  we  get  glimpses  now  and 
then  of  a  sphere  of  spiritual  possibilities, 
where  we,  dull  as  we  are  now,  may  sail  in 
vast  circles  round  the  largest  compass  of 
earthly  intelligences. 

—  I  confess  there  are  times  when  I  feel 
like  the  friend  I  mentioned  to  you  some 
time  ago,  —  I  hate  the  very  sight  of  a  book. 
Sometimes  it  becomes  almost  a  physical  ne 
cessity  to  talk  out  what  is  in  the  mind,  be 
fore  putting  anything  else  into  it.  It  is 
very  bad  to  have  thoughts  and  feelings, 
which  were  meant  to  come  out  in  talk,  strike 
in,  as  they  say  of  some  complaints  that 
ought  to  show  outwardly. 

I  always  believed  in  life  rather  than  in 
books.  I  suppose  every  day  of  earth,  with 
its  hundred  thousand  deaths  and  something 
more  of  births,  —  with  its  loves  and  hates, 
its  triumphs  and  defeats,  its  pangs  and 
blisses,  has  more  of  humanity  in  it  than  all 
the  books  that  were  ever  written,  put  to 
gether.  I  believe  the  flowers  growing  at 
this  moment  send  up  more  fragrance  to 
heaven  than  was  ever  exhaled  from  all  the 
essences  ever  distilled. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  185 

—  Don't  I  read  up  various  matters  to  talk 
about  at  this  table  or  elsewhere  ?  —  No,  that 
is  the  last  thing  I  would  do.     I  will  tell  you 
my  rule.    Talk  about  those  subjects  you  have 
had  long  in  your  mind,  and  listen  to  what 
others  say  about  subjects  you  have  studied 
but  recently.    Knowledge  and  timber  should 
n't  be  much  used  till  they  are  seasoned. 

—  Physiologists  and  metaphysicians  have 
had  their  attention  turned  a  good  deal  of 
late  to  the  automatic  and  involuntary  ac 
tions  of  the  mind.     Put  an  idea  into  your 
intelligence  and  leave  it  there  an  hour,  a 
day,  a  year,  without  ever  having  occasion  to 
refer  to  it.     When,  at  last,  you  return  to  it, 
you  do  not  find  it  as  it  was  when  acquired. 
It  has  domiciliated  itself,  so  to  speak,  —  be 
come  at  home,  —  entered  into  relations  with 
your  other  thoughts,   and  integrated  itself 
with   the  whole  fabric  of   the  mind.  —  Or 
take  a  simple  and  familiar   example ;   Dr. 
Carpenter  has   adduced  it.     You  forget  a 
name,  in  conversation,  —  go  on  talking,  with 
out  making  any  effort  to   recall  it,  —  and 
presently  the  mind  evolves  it  by  its  own  in 
voluntary  and  unconscious  action,  while  you 
were  pursuing  another  train  of  thought,  and 
the  name  rises  of  itself  to  your  lips. 

There   are   some   curious   observations   I 


186  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

should  like  to  make  about  the  mental  ma 
chinery,  but  I  think  we  are  getting  rather 
didactic. 

—  I    should    be    gratified,    if     Benjamin 
Franklin  would  let  me  know  something  of 
his   progress    in   the    French   language.     I 
rather  liked  that  exercise  he   read  us  the 
other  day,  though  I  must  confess  I  should 
hardly  dare  to  translate  it,   for  fear   some 
people  in  a  remote  city  where  I  once  lived 
might  think  I  was  drawing  their  portraits. 

—  Yes,  Paris  is  a  famous  place  for  soci 
eties.     I    don't   know  whether  the  piece  I 
mentioned    from    the    French    author   was 
intended    simply  as    Natural    History,    or 
whether  there  was  not  a  little  malice  in  his 
description.     At  any  rate,  when  I  gave  my 
translation  to  B.  F.  to  turn  back  again  into 
French,  one  reason  was  that  I   thought  it 
would  sound  a  little  bald  in  English,  and 
some  people  might  think  it  was  meant  to 
have  some  local  bearing  or  other,  —  which 
the    author,  of    course,  didn't   mean,  inas 
much  as  he  could  not  be   acquainted  with 
anything  on  this  side  of  the  water. 

[The  above  remarks  were  addressed  to 
the  schoolmistress,  to  whom  I  handed  the 
paper  after  looking  it  over.  The  divinity- 
student  came  and  read  over  her  shoulder,  — 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  187 

very  curious,  apparently,  but  his  eyes  wan 
dered,  I  thought.  Fancying  that  her  breath 
ing  was  somewhat  hurried  and  high,  or 
thoracic,  as  my  friend,  the  Professor,  calls 
it,  I  watched  her  a  little  more  closely.  —  It 
is  none  of  my  business.  —  After  all,  it  is  the 
imponderables  that  move  the  world,  —  heat, 
electricity,  love.  —  Habet  ?~\ 

This  is  the  piece  that  Benjamin  Franklin 
made  into  boarding-school  French,  such  as 
you  see  here  ;  don't  expect  too  much ;  —  the 
mistakes  give  a  relish  to  it,  I  think. 

LES  SOCIETES    POLYPHYSIOPHILOSOPHIQUES. 

CES  Socie'te's  1&  sont  une  Institution  pour  supplier  aux 
besoins  d' esprit  et  de  cceur  de  ces  individus  qui  ont  sur- 
ve*cu  k  leurs  Emotions  &  regard  du  beau  sexe,  et  qui 
n'ont  pas  la  distraction  de  F  habitude  de  boire. 

Pour  devenir  membre  d'une  de  ces  Socie'te's,  on  doit 
avoir  le  moins  de  cheveux  possible.  S?il  y  en  reste  plu- 
sieurs  qui  resistent  aux  de*pilatoires  naturelles  et  autres, 
on  doit  avoir  quelques  connaissances,  n'iniporte  dans 
quel  genre.  Des  le  moment  qu'on  ouvre  la  porte  de  la 
Socie'te',  on  a  un  grand  inte*ret  dans  toutes  les  cboses  dont 
on  ne  sait  rien.  Ainsi,  un  microscopiste  de*montre  un 
nouveau  flexor  du  tarse  d'un  melolontha  vulgaris.  Douze 
savans  improvises,  portans  des  besides,  et  qui  ne  con- 
naissent  rien  des  insectes,  si  ce  n'est  les  morsures  du 
culeXj  se  pre"cipitent  sur  1'instrument,  et  voient, — une 
grande  bulle  d'air,  dont  ils  s'e'merveillent  avec  effusion. 
Ce  qui  est  un  spectacle  plein  d' instruction,  —  pour  ceux 
qui  ne  sont  pas  de  ladite  Socie'te'.  Tous  les  membres 
regardent  les  chimistes  en  particulier  avec  un  air  d'in- 


188  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

telligenee  parfaite  pendant  qu'ils  prouvent  dans  nn  dis- 
cours  d'une  demiheure  que  Oc  N8  H5  C3  etc.  font  quelque 
chose  qui  n'est  bonne  a  rien,  niais  qui  probablement  a 
wne  odeur  tres  de'sagre'able,  selon  1' habitude  des  produits 
chimiques.  Apres  cela  vient  un  mathe'inaticien  qui  vous 
bourre  avec  des  a  -f-  b  et  vous  rapporte  enfin  un  x  -j-  z/, 
dont  vous  n'avez  pas  besoin  et  qui  ne  change  nullement 
vos  relations  avec  la  vie.  Un  naturaliste  vous  parle  des 
formations  spe*ciales  des  animaux  excessivement  incon- 
nus,  dont  vous  n'avez  jamais  soupc.onne'  1' existence. 
Ainsi  il  vous  de"crit  les  follicules  de  r appendix  vermifor- 
mis  d'un  dzigguetai.  Vous  ne  savez  pas  ce  que  c'est  qu'un 
follicule.  Vous  ne  savez  pas  ce  que  c'est  qu'un  appendix 
vermiformis.  Vous  n'avez  jamais  entendu  parler  du  dzig 
guetai.  Ainsi  vous  gagnez  toutes  ces  connaissances  a  la 
fois,  qui  s'attachent  a  votre  esprit  comme  1'eau  adhere 
aux  plumes  d'un  canard.  On  connait  toutes  les  langues 
ex  officio  en  devenant  menibre  d'une  de  ces  Socie'te's. 
Ainsi  quand  on  entend  lire  un  Essai  sur  les  dialectes 
Tchutchiens,  on  comprend  tout  cela  de  suite,  et  s'in- 
struit  e'norme'nieni. 

II  j  a  deux  especes  d'individus  qu'on  trouve  toujours 
h  ces  Soci^t^s :  1°  Le  membre  a  questions ;  2°  Le  mem- 
bre  a  "Bylaws." 

La  question  est  une  spe'cialite*.  Celui  qui  en  fait  me'tier 
ne  fait  jamais  des  re"ponses.  La  question  est  une  maniere 
tres  commode  de  dire  les  choses  suivantes  :  "  Me  voila  ! 
Je  ne  suis  pas  fossil,  moi.  — je  respire  encore  !  J'ai  des 
ide'es,  —  voyez  mon  intelligence !  Vous  ne  croyiez  pap, 
vous  autres,  que  je  savais  quelque  chose  de  cela  !  Ah, 
nous  avons  un  peu  de  sagacite",  voyez  vous!  Nous  ne 
sommes  nullement  la  bete  qu'on  pense  !  "  —  Lefaiseur 
de  questions  donne  peu  d' attention  aux  re'ponses  qu'on  fait ; 
ce  n'est  pas  la  dans  sa  spe'cialite'. 

Le  membre  a  "  Bylaws  "  est  le  bouchon  de  toutes  les 
Emotions  mousseuses  et  ge'ne'reuses  qui  se  montrent  dans 
la  Socie*te*.  C'est  un  empereur  manque,  — un  tyran  a  la 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  189 

troisieme  trituration.  C'est  un  esprit  dur,  borne*,  exact, 
grand  dans  les  petitesses,  petit  dans  les  grandeurs,  selon 
le  mot  du  grand  Jefferson.  On  ne  1'aime  pas  dans  la 
Socie'te',  mais  on  le  respecte  et  on  le  craint.  II  n'y  a  qu'un 
mot  pour  ce  membre  audessus  de  "  Bylaws."  Ce  motest 
pour  lui  ce  que  1'Om  est  aux  Hindous.  C'est  sa  religion  ; 
il  n'y  a  rien  audela.  Ce  mot  la  c'est  la  CONSTITUTION  ! 

Lesdites  Socie'te's  publient  des  feuilletons  de  terns  en 
toms.  On  les  trouve  abandonne"s  &  sa  porte,  nus  comme 
des  enfans  nouveaune"s,  faute  de  membrane  cutane"e,  ou 
meme  papyrace"e.  Si  on  aime  la  botanique,  on  y  trouve 
une  me'tnoire  sur  les  coquilles  ;  si  on  fait  des  e*tudes  zo- 
ologiques,  on  trouve  un  grand  tas  de  q'^V  —  1 ,  ce  qui  doit 
etre  infiniment  plus  commode  que  les  encyclope*dies. 
Ainsi  il  est  clair  comme  la  me'taphysique  qu'on  doit  de- 
venir  membre  d'une  Socie'te  telle  que  nous  de"crivons. 

Hecette  pour  le  Dc'pilatoire  Physiophilosophique. 

Chaux  vive  Ib.  ss.     Eau  bouillante  Oj. 

De*pilez  avec.     Polissez  ensuite. 

—  I  told  the  boy  that  his  translation  into 
French  was  creditable  to  him ;  and  some  of 
the  company  wishing  to  hear  what  there  was 
in  the  piece  that  made  me  smile,  I  turned  it 
into  English  for  them,  as  well  as  I  could,  on 
the  spot. 

The  landlady's  daughter  seemed  to  be 
much  amused  by  the  idea  that  a  depilatory 
could  take  the  place  of  literary  and  scientific 
accomplishments ;  she  wanted  me  to  print 
the  piece,  so  that  she  might  send  a  copy  of 
it  to  her  cousin  in  Mizzourah  ;  she  did  n't 
chink  he  'd  have  to  do  anything  to  the  out- 


190  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

side  of  his  head  to  get  into  any  of  the  socie 
ties  ;  lie  had  to  wear  a  wig  once,  when  he 
played  a  part  in  a  tabullo. 

No,  —  said  I,  —  I  should  n't  think  of 
printing  that  in  English.  I  '11  tell  you  why. 
As  soon  as  you  get  a  few  thousand  people 
together  in  a  town,  there  is  somebody  that 
every  sharp  thing  you  say  is  sure  to  hit. 
What  if  a  thing  was  written  in  Paris  or  in 
Pekin  ?  —  that  makes  no  difference.  Every 
body  in  those  cities,  or  almost  everybody,  has 
his  counterpart  here,  and  in  all  large  places. 
— You  never  studied  averages,  as  I  have  had 
occasion  to. 

I  '11  tell  you  how  I  came  to  know  so 
much  about  averages.  There  was  one  sea 
son  when  I  was  lecturing,  commonly,  five 
evenings  in  the  week,  through  most  of  the 
lecturing  period.  I  soon  found,  as  most 
speakers  do,  that  it  was  pleasanter  to  work 
one  lecture  than  to  keep  several  in  hand. 

—  Don't  you  get  sick  to  death  of  one  lec 
ture? —  said  the  landlady's  daughter, — who 
had  a  new  dress  on  that  day,  and  was  in 
spirits  for  conversation. 

I  was  going  to  talk  about  averages,  —  I 
said,  —  but  I  have  no  objection  to  telling 
you  about  lectures,  to  begin  with. 

A  new  lecture  always  has  a  certain  ex- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  191 

citement  connected  with  its  delivery.  One 
thinks  well  of  it,  as  of  most  things  fresh  from 
his  mind.  After  a  few  deliveries  of  it,  one 
gets  tired  and  then  disgusted  with  its  repe 
tition.  Go  on  delivering  it,  and  the  disgust 
passes  off,  until,  after  one  has  repeated  it  a 
hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  times,  he 
rather  enjoys  the  hundred  and  first  or  hun 
dred  and  fifty-first  time,  before  a  new  audi 
ence.  But  this  is  on  one  condition,  —  that 
he  never  lays  the  lecture  down  and  lets  it 
cool.  If  he  does,  there  comes  on  a  loathing 
for  it  which  is  intense,  so  that  the  sight  of 
the  old  battered  manuscript  is  as  bad  as  sea 
sickness. 

A  new  lecture  is  just  like  any  other  new 
tool.  We  use  it  for  a  while  with  pleasure. 
Then  it  blisters  our  hands,  and  we  hate  to 
touch  it.  By  and  by  our  hands  get  callous, 
and  then  we  have  no  longer  any  sensitiveness 
about  it.  But  if  we  give  it  up,  the  calluses 
disappear ;  and  if  we  meddle  with  it  again, 
we  miss  the  novelty  and  get  the  blisters.  — 
The  story  is  often  quoted  of  Whitefield,  that 
he  said  a  sermon  was  good  for  nothing  until 
it  had  been  preached  forty  times.  A  lecture 
does  n't  begin  to  be  old  until  it  has  passed 
its  hundredth  delivery ;  and  some,  I  think, 
have  doubled,  if  not  quadrupled,  that  num- 


192  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

ber.  These  old  lectures  are  a  man's  best, 
commonly ;  they  improve  by  age,  also,  — 
like  the  pipes,  fiddles,  and  poems  I  told  you 
of  the  other  day.  One  learns  to  make  the 
most  of  their  strong  points  and  to  carry  off 
their  weak  ones,  —  to  take  out  the  really 
good  things  which  don't  tell  on  the  audi 
ence,  and  put  in  cheaper  things  that  do. 
All  this  degrades  him,  of  course,  but  it  im 
proves  the  lecture  for  general  delivery.  A 
thoroughly  popular  lecture  ought  to  have 
nothing  in  it  which  five  hundred  people  can 
not  all  take  in  a  flash,  just  as  it  is  uttered. 

—  No,  indeed,  —  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
say  anything  disrespectful  of  audiences.  I 
have  been  kindly  treated  by  a  great  many, 
and  may  occasionally  face  one  hereafter. 
But  I  tell  you  the  average  intellect  of  five 
hundred  persons,  taken  as  they  come,  is  not 
very  high.  It  may  be  sound  and  safe,  so  far 
as  it  goes,  but  it  is  not  very  rapid  or  pro 
found.  A  lecture  ought  to  be  something 
which  all  can  understand,  about  something 
which  interests  everybody.  I  think,  that,  if 
any  experienced  lecturer  gives  you  a  differ 
ent  account  from  this,  it  will  probably  be  one 
of  those  eloquent  or  forcible  speakers  who 
hold  an  audience  by  the  charm  of  their  man 
ner,  whatever  they  talk  about,  —  even  when 
they  don't  talk  very  well. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  193 

But  an  average,  which  was  what  I  meant 
to  speak  about,  is  one  of  the  most  extraor 
dinary  subjects  of  observation  and  study.  It 
is  awful  in  its  uniformity,  in  its  automatic 
necessity  of  action.  Two  communities  of 
ants  or  bees  are  exactly  alike  in  all  their  ac 
tions,  so  far  as  we  can  see.  Two  lyceum  as 
semblies,  of  five  hundred  each,  are  so  nearly 
alike,  that  they  are  absolutely  undistinguish- 
able  in  many  cases  by  any  definite  mark,  and 
there  is  nothing  but  the  place  and  time  by 
which  one  can  tell  the  "  remarkably  intelli 
gent  audience  "  of  a  town  in  New  York  or 
Ohio  from  one  in  any  New  England  town  of 
similar  size.  Of  course,  if  any  principle  of 
selection  has  come  in,  as  in  those  special  as 
sociations  of  young  men  which  are  common 
in  cities,  it  deranges  the  uniformity  of  the 
assemblage.  But  let  there  be  no  such  inter 
fering  circumstances,  and  one  knows  pretty 
well  even  the  look  the  audience  will  have, 
before  he  goes  in.  Front  seats :  a  few  old 
folks,  —  shiny-headed,  —  slant  up  best  ear 
towards  the  speaker,  —  drop  off  asleep  after 
a  while,  when  the  air  begins  to  get  a  little 
narcotic  with  carbonic  acid.  Bright  women's 
faces,  young  and  middle-aged,  a  little  be 
hind  these,  but  toward  the  front,  —  (pick 
out  the  best,  and  lecture  mainly  to  that.) 


194  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Here  and  there  a  countenance,  sharp  and 
scholarlike,  and  a  dozen  pretty  female  ones 
sprinkled  about.  An  indefinite  number  of 
pairs  of  young  people,  —  happy,  but  not  al 
ways  very  attentive.  Bdys,  in  the  back 
ground,  more  or  less  quiet.  Dull  faces,  here, 
there,  —  in  Jiow  many  places  !  I  don't  say 
dull  people,  but  faces  without  a  ray  of  sym 
pathy  or  a  movement  of  expression.  They 
are  what  kill  the  lecturer.  These  negative 
faces  with  their  vacuous  eyes  and  stony  lin 
eaments  pump  and  suck  the  warm  soul  out 
of  him ;  —  that  is  the  chief  reason  why  lec 
turers  grow  so  pale  before  the  season  is  over. 
They  render  latent  any  amount  of  vital  ca 
loric  ;  they  act  on  our  minds  as  those  cold 
blooded  creatures  I  was  talking  about  act 
on  our  hearts. 

Out  of  all  these  inevitable  elements  the 
audience  is  generated,  —  a  great  compound 
vertebrate,  as  much  like  fifty  others  you 
have  seen  as  any  two  mammals  of  the  same 
species  are  like  each  other.  Each  audience 
laughs,  and  each  cries,  in  just  the  same 
places  of  your  lecture  ;  that  is,  if  you  make 
one  laugh  or  cry,  you  make  all.  Even  those 
little  indescribable  movements  which  a  lec 
turer  takes  cognizance  of,  just  as  a  driver 
notices  his  horse's  cocking  his  ears,  are  sure 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  195 

to  come  in  exactly  the  same  place  of  your 
lecture  always.  I  declare  to  you,  that  as 
the  monk  said  about  the  picture  in  the  con 
vent,  —  that  he  sometimes  thought  the  liv 
ing-  tenants  were  the  shadows,  and  the 
painted  figures  the  realities,  —  I  have  some 
times  felt  as  if  I  were  a  wandering  spirit, 
and  this  great  unchanging  multivertebrate 
which  I  faced  night  after  night  was  one 
ever-listening  animal,  which  writhed  along 
after  me  wherever  I  fled,  and  coiled  at  my 
feet  every  evening,  turning  up  to  me  the 
same  sleepless  eyes  which  I  thought  I  had 
closed  with  my  last  drowsy  incantation  ! 

—  Oh  yes  !  A  thousand  kindly  and  cour 
teous  acts,  —  a  thousand  faces  that  melted 
individually  out  of  my  recollection  as  the 
April  snow  melts,  but  only  to  steal  away 
and  find  the  beds  of  flowers  whose  roots  are 
memory,  but  which  blossom  in  poetry  and 
dreams.  I  am  not  ungrateful,  nor  uncon 
scious  of  all  the  good  feeling  and  intelli 
gence  everywhere  to  be  met  with  through 
the  vast  parish  to  which  the  lecturer  minis 
ters.  But  when  I  set  forth,  leading  a  string 
of  my  mind's  daughters  to  market,  as  the 
country-folk  fetch  in  their  strings  of  horses 
—  Pardon  me,  that  was  a  coarse  fellow  who 
sneered  at  the  sympathy  wasted  on  an  un- 


196  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

happy  lecturer,  as  if,  because  he  was  de 
cently  paid  for  his  services,  he  had  therefore 
sold  his  sensibilities.  —  Family  men  get 
dreadfully  homesick.  In  the  remote  and 
bleak  village  the  heart  returns  to  the  red 
blaze  of  the  logs  in  one's  fireplace  at  home. 

"  There  are  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play,"  — 

if  he  owns  any  youthful  savages.  —  No,  the 
world  has  a  million  roosts  for  a  man,  but 
only  one  nest. 

—  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  be  an  oracle  to 
which  an  appeal  is  always  made  in  all  dis 
cussions.     The  men  of  facts  wait  their  turn 
in    grim    silence,    with    that    slight   tension 
about  the  nostrils  which  the  consciousness 
of  carrying  a  "settler"  in  the  form   of  a 
fact  or  a  revolver  gives  the  individual  thus 
armed.     When  a  person  is  really  full  of  in 
formation,  and  does  not  abuse  it  to  crush 
conversation,  his  part  is  to  that  of  the  real 
talkers  what   the   instrumental   accompani 
ment  is  in  a  trio  or  quartette  of  vocalists. 

—  What  do  I  mean  by  the  real  talkers  ? 
—  Why,   the   people   with   fresh   ideas,   of 
course,  and  plenty  of  good  warm  words  to 
dress  them  in.     Facts  always  yield  the  place 
of  honor  in  conversation,  to  thoughts  about 
facts ;  but  if  a  false  note  is  uttered,  down 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  197 

comes  the  finger  on  the  key  and  the  man  of 
facts  asserts  his  true  dignity.  I  have  known 
three  of  these  men  of  facts,  at  least,  who 
were  always  formidable,  —  and  one  of  them 
was  tyrannical. 

—  Yes,  a  man  sometimes  makes  a  grand 
appearance  on  a  particular  occasion ;  but 
these  men  knew  something  about  almost 
everything,  and  never  made  mistakes.  —  He  ? 
Veneers  in  first-rate  style.  The  mahogany 
scales  off  now  and  then  in  spots,  and  then 

you  see  the  cheap  light  stuff.  —  I  found 

very  fine  in  conversational  information,  the 
other  day  when  we  were  in  company.  The 
talk  ran  upon  mountains.  He  was  wonder 
fully  well  acquainted  with  the  leading  facts 
about  the  Andes,  the  Apennines,  and  the 
Appalachians  ;  he  had  nothing  in  particular 
to  say  about  Ararat,  Ben  Nevis,  and  various 
other  mountains  that  were  mentioned.  By 
and  by  some  Revolutionary  anecdote  came 
up,  and  he  showed  singular  familiarity  with 
the  lives  of  the  Adamses,  and  gave  many 
details  relating  to  Major  Andre*.  A  point 
of  Natural  History  being  suggested,  he  gave 
an  excellent  account  of  the  air-bladder  of 
fishes.  He  was  very  full  upon  the  subject 
of  agriculture,  but  retired  from  the  conver 
sation  when  horticulture  was  introduced  in 


198  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

the  discussion.  So  lie  seemed  well  acquainted 
with  the  geology  of  anthracite,  but  did  not 
pretend  to  know  anything  of  other  kinds  of 
coal.  There  was  something  so  odd  about 
the  extent  and  limitations  of  his  knowledge, 
that  I  suspected  all  at  once  what  might  be 
the  meaning  of  it,  and  waited  till  I  got  an 
opportunity.  —  Have  you  seen  the  "  New 
American  Cyclopedia  ?  "  said  I.  —  I  have, 
he  replied ;  I  received  an  early  copy.  — 
How  far  does  it  go  ?  —  He  turned  red,  and 
answered,  —  To  Araguay.  —  Oh,  said  I  to 
myself,  —  not  quite  so  far  as  Ararat ;  —  that 
is  the  reason  he  knew  nothing  about  it ;  but 
he  must  have  read  all  the  rest  straight 
through,  and,  if  he  can  remember  what  is  in 
this  volume  until  he  has  read  all  those  which 
are  to  come,  he  will  know  more  than  I  ever 
thought  he  would. 

Since  I  had  this  experience,  I  hear  that 
somebody  else  has  related  a  similar  story.  I 
did  n't  borrow  it  for  all  that.  —  I  made  a 
comparison  at  table  some  time  since,  which 
has  often  been  quoted  and  received  many 
compliments.  It  was  that  of  the  mind  of  a 
bigot  to  the  pupil  of  the  eye ;  the  more  light 
you  pour  on  it,  the  more  it  contracts.  The 
simile  is  a  very  obvious,  and,  I  suppose  I 
may  now  say,  a  happy  one  ;  for  it  has  just 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  199 

been  shown  me  that  it  occurs  in  a  Preface  to 
certain  Political  Poems  of  Thomas  Moore's, 
published  long  before  my  remark  was  re 
peated.  When  a  person  of  fair  character 
for  literary  honesty  uses  an  image  such  as 
another  has  employed  before  him,  the  pre 
sumption  is,  that  he  has  struck  upon  it  inde 
pendently,  or  unconsciously  recalled  it,  sup 
posing  it  his  own. 

It  is  impossible  to  tell,  in  a  great  many 
cases,  whether  a  comparison  which  suddenly 
suggests  itself  is  a  new  conception  or  a  rec 
ollection.  I  told  you  the  other  day  that  I 
never  wrote  a  line  of  verse  that  seemed  to 
me  comparatively  good,  but  it  appeared  old 
at  once,  and  often  as  if  it  had  been  bor 
rowed.  But  I  confess  I  never  suspected  the 
above  comparison  of  being  old,  except  from 
the  fact  of  its  obviousness.  It  is  proper, 
however,  that  I  proceed  by  a  formal  instru 
ment  to  relinquish  all  claim  to  any  property 
in  an  idea  given  to  the  world  at  about  the 
time  when  I  had  just  joined  the  class  in 
which  Master  Thomas  Moore  was  then  a 
somewhat  advanced  scholar. 

If  therefore,  in  full  possession  of  my  na 
tive  honesty,  but  knowing  the  liability  of 
all  men  to  be  elected  to  public  office,  and 
for  that  reason  feeling  uncertain  how  soon  I 


200  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

/nay  be  in  danger  of  losing  it,  dp  hereby  re 
nounce  all  claim  to  being  considered  the 
first  person  who  gave  utterance  to  a  certain 
simile  or  comparison  referred  to  in  the  ac 
companying  documents,  and  relating  to  the 
pupil  of  the  eye  on  the  one  part  and  the 
mind  of  the  bigot  on  the  other.  I  hereby 
relinquish  all  glory  and  profit,  and  espe 
cially  all  claims  to  letters  from  autograph 
collectors,  founded  upon  my  supposed  prop 
erty  in  the  above  comparison,  —  knowing 
well,  that,  according  to  the  laws  of  litera 
ture,  they  who  speak  first  hold  the  fee  of 
the  thing  said.  I  do  also  agree  that  all 
Editors  of  Cyclopaedias  and  Biographical 
Dictionaries,  all  Publishers  of  Reviews  and 
Papers,  and  all  Critics  writing  therein,  shall 
be  at  liberty  to  retract  or  qualify  any  opin 
ion  predicated  on  the  supposition  that  I  was 
the  sole  and  undisputed  author  of  the  above 
comparison.  But,  inasmuch  as  I  do  affirm 
that  the  comparison  aforesaid  was  uttered 
by  me  in  the  firm  belief  that  it  was  new 
and  wholly  my  own,  and  as  I  have  good 
reason  to  think  that  I  had  never  seen  or 
heard  it  when  first  expressed  by  me,  anji  as 
it  is  well  known  that  different  persons  may 
independently  utter  the  same  idea,  —  as  is 
evinced  by  that  familiar  line  from  Donatus, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  201 

"  Pereant  illi  qui  ante  nos  nostra  dixerunt,"  — 

now,  therefore,  I  do  request  by  this  instru 
ment  that  all  well-disposed  persons  will  ab 
stain  from  asserting  or  implying  that  I  am 
open  to  any  accusation  whatsoever  touching 
the  said  comparison,  and,  if  they  have  so 
a'sserted  or  implied,  that  they  will  have  the 
manliness  forthwith  to  retract  the  same  as 
sertion  or  insinuation. 

I  think  few  persons  have  a  greater  dis 
gust  for  plagiarism  than  myself.  If  I  had 
even  suspected  that  the  idea  in  question  was 
borrowed,  I  should  have  disclaimed  origi 
nality,  or  mentioned  the  coincidence,  as  I 
once  did  in  a  case  where  I  had  happened  to 
hit  on  an  idea  of  Swift's.  —  But  what  shall 
I  do  about  these  verses  I  was  going  to  read 
you  ?  I  am  afraid  that  half  mankind  would 
accuse  me  of  stealing  their  thoughts,  if  I 
printed  them.  I  am  convinced  that  several 
of  you,  especially  if  you  are  getting  a  little 
on  in  life,  will  recognize  some  of  these  sen 
timents  as  having  passed  through  your  con 
sciousness  at  some  time.  I  can't  help  it,  — 
it  is  too  late  now.  The  verses  are  written, 
and  you  must  have  them.  Listen,  then, 
and  you  shall  hear 


202  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 


WHAT  WE  ALL  THINK. 

That  age  was  older  once  than  now 
In  spite  of  locks  untimely  shed, 

Or  silvered  on  the  youthful  brow ; 

That  babes  make  love  and  children  wecL 

That  sunshine  had  a  heavenly  glow, 

Which  faded  with  those  "  good  old  dayss?t 

When  winters  came  with  deeper  snow, 
And  autumns  with  a  softer  haze. 

That  —  mother,  sister,  wife,  or  child  — 
The  "best  of  women  "  each  lias  known, 

Were  school-boys  ever  half  so  wild  ? 

How  young  the  grandpapas  have  grown ! 

That  but  for  this  our  souls  were  free, 
And  but  for  that  our  lives  were  blest ; 

That  in  some  season  yet  to  be 

Our  cares  will  leave  us  time  to  rest. 

Whene'er  we  groan  with  ache  or  pain, 
Some  common  ailment  of  the  race,  — 

Though  doctors  think  the  matter  plain,  — 
That  ours  is  "a  peculiar  case." 

That  when  like  babes  with  fingers  burned 
We  count  one  bitter  maxim  more, 

Our  lesson  all  the  world  has  learned, 
And  men  are  wiser  than  before. 

That  when  we  sob  o'er  fancied  woes, 

The  angels  hovering  overhead 
Count  every  pitying  drop  that  flows 

And  love  us  for  the  tears  we  shed. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  203 

That  when  we  stand  with  tearless  eye 
And  turn  the  beggar  from  our  door, 

They  still  approve  us  when  we  sigh 
"  Ah,  had  I  but  one  thousand  more  !  " 

That  weakness  smoothed  the  path  of  sin, 
In  half  the  slips  our  youth  has  known ; 

And  whatsoe'er  its  blame  has  been, 

That  Mercy  flowers  on  faults  outgrown. 

Though  temples  crowd  the  crumbled  brink 

O'erhanging  truth's  eternal  flow, 
Their  tablets  bold  with  what  we  think, 

Their  echoes  dumb  to  what  we  know ; 

That  one  unquestioned  text  we  read, 
All  doubt  beyond,  all  fear  above, 

Nor  crackling  pile  nor  cursing  creed 
Can  burn  or  blot  it :  GOD  is  LOVE  ! 


VII. 

[THIS  particular  record  is  noteworthy 
principally  for  containing  a  paper  by  my 
friend,  the  Professor,  with  a  poem  or  two 
annexed  or  intercalated.  I  would  suggest 
to  young  persons  that  they  should  pass  over 
it  for  the  present,  and  read,  instead  of  it, 
that  story  about  the  young  man  who  was  in 
love  with  the  young  lady,  and  in  great  trou 
ble  for  something  like  nine  pages,  but  hap 
pily  married  on  the  tenth  page  or  there 
abouts,  which,  I  take  it  for  granted,  will  be 
contained  in  the  periodical  where  this  is 
found,  unless  it  differ  from  all  other  publi 
cations  of  the  kind.  Perhaps,  if  such  young 
people  will  lay  the  number  aside,  and  take 
it  up  ten  years,  or  a  little  more,  from  the 
present  time,  they  may  find  something  in  it 
for  their  advantage.  They  can't  possibly 
understand  it  all  now.] 

My  friend,  the  Professor,  began  talking 


206  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

with  me  one  day  in  a  dreary  sort  of  way. 
I  could  n't  get  at  the  difficulty  for  a  good 
while,  but  at  last  it  turned  out  that  some 
body  had  been  calling  him  an  old  man.  — 
He  did  n't  mind  his  students  calling  him  the 
old  man,  he  said.  That  was  a  technical  ex 
pression,  and  he  thought  that  he  remem 
bered  hearing  it  applied  to  himself  when  he 
was  about  twenty-five.  It  may  be  consid 
ered  as  a  familiar  and  sometimes  endearing 
appellation.  An  Irishwoman  calls  her  hus 
band  "the  old  man,"  and  he  returns  the 
caressing  expression  by  speaking  of  her  as 
"  the  old  woman."  But  now,  said  he,  just 
suppose  a  case  like  one  of  these.  A  young 
stranger  is  overheard  talking  of  you  as  a 
very  nice  old  gentleman.  A  friendly  and 
genial  critic  speaks  of  your  green  old  age  as 
illustrating  the  truth  of  some  axiom  you 
had  uttered  with  reference  to  that  period  of 
life.  What  /  call  an  old  man  is  a  person 
with  a  smooth,  shining  crown  and  a  fringe 
of  scattered  white  hairs,  seen  in  the  streets 
on  sunshiny  days,  stooping  as  he  walks, 
bearing  a  cane,  moving  cautiously  and  slow 
ly;  telling  old  stories,  smiling  at  present 
follies,  living  in  a  narrow  world  of  dry  hab 
its  ;  one  that  remains  waking  when  others 
have  dropped  asleep,  and  keeps  a  little 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  207 

night-lamp-flame  of  life  burning  year  after 
year,  if  the  lamp  is  not  upset,  and  there  is 
only  a  careful  hand  held  round  it  to  prevent 
the  puffs  of  wind  from  blowing  the  flame 
out.  That 's  what  I  call  an  old  man. 

Now,  said  the  Professor,  you  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  that  I  have  got  to  that  yet  ?  Why, 
bless  you,  I  am  several  years  short  of  the 
time  when  —  [I  knew  what  was  coming,  and 
could  hardly  keep  from  laughing;  twenty 
years  ago  he  used  to  quote  it  as  one  of  those 
absurd  speeches  men  of  genius  will  make, 
and  now  he  is  going  to  argue  from  it]  - 
several  years  short  of  the  time  when  Balzac 
says  that  men  are  —  most  —  you  know  — 
dangerous  to  —  the  hearts  of  —  in  short, 
most  to  be  dreaded  by  duennas  that  have 
charge  of  susceptible  females.  —  What  age 
is  that  ?  said  I,  statistically.  —  Fifty-two 
years,  answered  the  Professor.  —  Balzac 
ought  to  know,  said  I,  if  it  is  true  that 
Goethe  said  of  him  that  each  of  his  stories 
must  have  been  dug  out  of  a  woman's  heart. 
But  fifty-two  is  a  high  figure. 

Stand  in  the  light  of  the  window,  Pro 
fessor,  said  I.  —  The  Professor  took  up  the 
desired  position.  —  You  have  white  hairs,  I 
said.  —  Had  'em  any  time  these  twenty 
years,  said  the  Professor.  —  And  the  crow's-. 


208  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

foot,  —  pes  anserinus,  rather.  —  The  Pro 
fessor  smiled,  as  I  wanted  him  to,  and  the 
folds  radiated  like  the  ridges  of  a  half- 
opened  fan,  from  the  outer  corner  of  the 
eyes  to  the  temples.  —  And  the  calipers,  said 
I.  —  What  are  the  calipers  ?  he  asked,  cu 
riously.  —  Why,  the  parenthesis,  said  I.  — 
Parenthesis  ?  said  the  Professor ;  what 's 
that  ?  —  Why  look  in  the  glass  when  you 
are  disposed  to  laugh,  and  see  if  your  mouth 
is  n't  framed  in  a  couple  of  crescent  lines, 
—  so,  my  boy  (  ).  —  It's  all  nonsense,  said 
the  Professor  ;  just  look  at  my  biceps ;  — 
and  he  began  pulling  off  his  coat  to  show 
me  his  arm.  Be  careful,  said  I ;  you  can't 
bear  exposure  to  the  air,  at  your  time  of  life, 
as  you  could  once.  —  I  will  box  with  you, 
said  the  Professor,  row  with  you,  walk  with 
you,  ride  with  you,  swim  with  you,  or  sit  at 
table  with  you,  for  fifty  dollars  a  side.  - 
Pluck  survives  stamina,  I  answered. 

The  Professor  went  off  a  little  out  of  hu 
mor.  A  few  weeks  afterwards  he  came  in, 
looking  very  good-natured,  and  brought  me 
a  paper,  which  I  have  here,  and  from  which 
I  shall  read  you  some  portions,  if  you  don't 
object.  He  had  been  thinking  the  matter 
over,  he  said,  —  had  read  Cicero  "  De  Se- 
nectute,"  and  made  up  his  mind  to  meet  old 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  209 

age  half  way.  These  were  some  of  his  re 
flections  which  he  had  written  down;  so 
here  you  have 

THE    PROFESSOR'S   PAPER. 

There  is  no  doubt  when  old  age  begins. 
The  human  body  is  *  a  furnace  which  keeps 
in  blast  three-score  years  and  ten,  more  or 
less.  It  burns  about  three  hundred  pounds 
of  carbon  a  year  (besides  other  fuel),  when 
in  fair  working  order,  according  to  a  great 
chemist's  estimate.  When  the  fire  slackens, 
life  declines  ;  when  it  goes  out,  we  are  dead. 

It  has  been  shown  by  some  noted  French 
experimenters,  that  the  amount  of  combus 
tion  increases  up  to  about  the  thirtieth  year, 
remains  stationary  to  about  forty-five,  and 
then  diminishes.  This  last  is  the  point  where 
old  age  starts  from.  The  great  fact  of  phys 
ical  life  is  the  perpetual  commerce  with  the 
elements,  and  the  fire  is  the  measure  of  it. 

About  this  time  of  life,  if  food  is  plenty 
where  you  live,  —  for  that,  you  know,  regu 
lates  matrimony,  —  you  may  be  expecting  to 
find  yourself  a  grandfather  some  fine  morn 
ing  ;  a  kind  of  domestic  felicity  which  gives 
one  a  cool  shiver  of  delight  to  think  of,  as 
among  the  not  remotely  possible  events. 

I  don't  mind  much  those  slipshod  lines 


210  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Dr.  Johnson  wrote  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  telling 
her  about  life's  declining  from  thirty-five  ; 
the  furnace  is  in  full  blast  for  ten  years 
longer,  as  I  have  said.  The  Romans  came 
very  near  the  mark ;  their  age  of  enlistment 
reached  from  seventeen  to  forty-six  years. 

What  is  the  use  of  fighting  against  the 
seasons,  or  the  tides,  or  the  movements  of 
the  planetary  bodies,  or  this  ebb  in  the  wave 
of  life  that  flows  through  us  ?  We  are  old 
fellows  from  the  moment  the  fire  begins  to 
go  out.  Let  us  always  behave  like  gentle 
men  when  we  are  introduced  to  new  ac 
quaintances. 

Incipit  Allecjoria  Senectutis. 

Old  Age,  this  is  Mr.  Professor ;  Mr.  Pro 
fessor,  this  is  Old  Age. 

Old  Age. —  Mr.  Professor,  I  hope  to  see 
you  well.  I  have  known  you  for  some  time, 
though  I  think  you  did  not  know  me.  Shall 
we  walk  down  the  street  together  ? 

Professor  (drawing  back  a  little).  —  We 
can  talk  more  quietly,  perhaps,  in  my  study. 
Will  you  tell  me  how  it  is  you  seem  to  be 
acquainted  with  everybody  you  are  intro 
duced  to,  though  he  evidently  considers  you 
an  entire  stranger? 

Old  Aye.  —  I  make   it  a  rule   never  to 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  211 

force  myself  upon  a  person's  recognition 
until  I  have  known  him  at  least  Jive  years. 

Professor.  —  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  known  me  so  long  as  that  ? 

Old  Age.  —  I  do.  I  left  my  card  on  you 
longer  ago  than  that,  but  I  am  afraid  you 
never  read  it ;  yet  I  see  you  have  it  with 
you. 

Professor.  —  Where  ? 

Old  Age.  —  There,  between  your  eye 
brows,  —  three  straight  lines  running  up 
and  down  ;  all  the  probate  courts  know  that 
token,  —  "  Old  Age,  his  mark."  Put  your 
forefinger  on  the  inner  end  of  one  eyebrow, 
and  your  middle  finger  on  the  inner  end  of 
the  other  eyebrow ;  now  separate  the  fingers, 
and  you  will  smooth  out  my  sign-manual ; 
that 's  the  way  you  used  to  look  before  I 
left  my  card  on  you. 

Professor.  —  What  message  do  people 
generally  send  back  when  you  first  call  on 
them  ? 

Old  Age.  —  Not  at  home.  Then  I  leave 
a  card  and  go.  Next  year  I  call ;  get  the 
same  answer;  leave  another  card.  So  for 
five  or  six,  —  sometimes  ten  years  or  more. 
At  last,  if  they  don't  let  me  in,  I  break  in 
through  the  front  door  or  the  windows. 

We  talked  together  in  this  way  some  time- 


212  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Then  Old  Age  said  again,  —  Come,  let  us 
walk  down  the  street  together,  —  and  offered 
me  a  cane,  an  eyeglass,  a  tippet,  and  a  pair 
of  over-shoes.  —  No,  much  obliged  to  you, 
said  I.  I  don't  want  those  things,  and  I  had 
a  little  rather  talk  with  you  here,  privately, 
in  my  study.  So  I  dressed  myself  up  in  a 
jaunty  way  and  walked  out  alone  ;  —  got  a 
fall,  caught  a  cold,  was  laid  up  with  a  lum 
bago,  and  had  time  to  think  over  this  whole 
matter. 

Explicit  Allegoria  Senectutis. 

We  have  settled  when  old  age  begins. 
Like  all  Nature's  processes,  it  is  gentle  and 
gradual  in  its  approaches,  strewed  with  illu 
sions,  and  all  its  little  griefs  are  soothed  by 
natural  sedatives.  But  the  iron  hand  is  not 
less  irresistible  because  it  wears  the  velvet 
glove.  The  button-wood  throws  off  its  bark 
in  large  flakes,  which  one  may  find  lying  at 
its  foot,  pushed  out,  and  at  last  pushed  off, 
by  that  tranquil  movement  from  beneath, 
which  is  too  slow  to  be  seen,  but  too  power 
ful  to  be  arrested.  One  finds  them  always, 
but  one  rarely  sees  them  fall.  So  it  is  our 
youth  drops  from  us,  —  scales  off,  sapless 
and  lifeless,  and  lays  bare  the  tender  and 
immature  fresh  growth  of  old  age.  Looked 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  213 

at  collectively,  the  changes  of  old  age  ap 
pear  as  a  series  of  personal  insults  and  in 
dignities,  terminating  at  last  in  death,  which 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  has  called  "the  very 
disgrace  and  ignominy  of  our  natures." 

My  lady's  cheek  can  boast  no  more 
The  cranberry  white  and  pink  it  wore ; 
And  where  her  shining-  locks  divide, 
The  parting  line  is  all  too  wide  — 

No,  no,  —  this  will  never  do.  Talk  about 
men,  if  you  will,  but  spare  the  poor  women. 
We  have  a  brief  description  of  seven 
stages  of  life  by  a  remarkably  good  observer. 
It  is  very  presumptuous  to  attempt  to  add  to 
it,  yet  I  have  been  struck  with  the  fact  that 
life  admits  of  a  natural  analysis  into  no  less 
than  fifteen  distinct  periods.  Taking  the  five 
primary  divisions,  infancy,  childhood,  youth, 
manhood,  old  age,  each  of  these  has  its  own 
three  periods  of  immaturity,  complete  de 
velopment,  and  decline.  I  recognize  an  old 
baby  at  once,  — with  its  "  pipe  and  mug  "  (a 
stick  of  candy  and  a  porringer),  —  so  does 
everybody ;  and  an  old  child  shedding  its 
milk-teeth  is  only  a  little  prototype  of  the 
old  man  shedding  his  permanent  ones.  Fifty 
or  thereabouts  is  only  the  childhood,  as  it 
were,  of  old  age ;  the  graybeard  youngster 
must  be  weaned  from  his  late  suppers  now 


214  THE   AUTOCRAT   OF 

So  you  will  see  that  you  have  to  make  fif 
teen  stages  at  any  rate,  and  that  it  would  not 
be  hard  to  make  twenty-five  ;  five  primary, 
each  with  five  secondary  divisions. 

The  infancy  and  childhood  of  commencing 
old  age  have  the  same  ingenuous  simplicity 
and  delightful  unconsciousness  about  them 
that  are  shown  by  the  first  stage  of  the  ear- 

J  O 

Her  periods  of  life.  The  great  delusion  of 
mankind  is  in  supposing  that  to  be  individ 
ual  and  exceptional  which  is  universal  and 
according  to  law.  A  person  is  always  star 
tled  when  he  hears  himself  seriously  called 
an  old  man  for  the  first  time. 

Nature  gets  us  out  of  youth  into  manhood, 
as  sailors  are  hurried  on  board  of  vessels,  — 
in  a  state  of  intoxication.  We  are  hustled 
into  maturity  reeling  with  our  passions  and 
imaginations,  and  we  have  drifted  far  away 
from  port  before  we  awake  out  of  our  illu 
sions.  But  to  carry  us  out  of  maturity  into 
old  age,  without  our  knowing  where  we  are 
going,  she  drugs  us  with  strong  opiates,  and 
so  we  stagger  along  with  wide  open  eyes  that 
see  nothing  until  snow  enough  has  fallen  on 
our  heads  to  rouse  our  half  comatose  brains 
out  of  their  stupid  trances. 

There  is  one  mark  of  age  which  strikes 
me  more*  than  any  of  the  physical  ones  ;  — 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  215 

I  mean  the  formation  of  Habits.  An  old 
man  who  shrinks  into  himself  falls  into 
ways  which  become  as  positive  and  as  much 
beyond  the  reach  of  outside  influences  as 
if  they  were  governed  by  clock  work.  The 
animal  functions,  as  the  physiologists  call 
them,  in  distinction  from  the  organic,  tend, 
in  the  process  of  dete'rioration  to  which  age 
and  neglect  united  gradually  lead  them,  to 
assume  the  periodical  or  rhythmical  type  of 
movement.  Every  man's  heart  (this  organ 
belongs,  you  know,  to  the  organic  system) 
has  a  regular  mode  of  action ;  but  I  know 
a  great  many  men  whose  brains,  and  all 
their  voluntary  existence  flowing  from  their 
brains,  have  a  systole  and  diastole  as  regu 
lar  as  that  of  the  heart  itself.  Habit  is  the 
approximation  of  the  animal  system  to  the 
organic.  It  is  a  confession  of  failure  in  the 
highest  function  of  being,  which  involves  a 
perpetual  self-determination,  in  full  view  of 
all  existing  circumstances.  But  habit,  you 
see,  is  an  action  in  present  circumstances 
from  past  motives.  It  is  substituting  a  vis 
a  tergo  for  the  evolution  of  living  force. 

When  a  man,  instead  of  burning  up  three 
hundred  pounds  of  carbon 'a  year,  has  got 
down  to  two  hundred  and  fifty,  it  is  plain 
enough  he  must  economize  force  somewhere. 


216  .     THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Now  habit  is  a  labor-saving  invention  which 
enables  a  man  to  get  along  with  less  fuel,  — 
that  is  all ;  for  fuel  is  force,  you  know,  just 
as  much  in  the  page  I  am  writing  for  you  as 
in  the  locomotive  or  the  legs  which  carry  it 
to  you.  Carbon  is  the  same  thing,  whether 
you  call  it  wood,  or  coal,  or  bread  and 
cheese.  A  reverend  gentleman  demurred  to 
this  statement,  - —  as  if,  because  combustion 
is  asserted  to  be  the  sine  qua  non  of  thought, 
therefore  thought  is  alleged  to  be  a  purely 
chemical  process.  Facts  of  chemistry  are 
one  thing,  I  told  him,  and  facts  of  conscious 
ness  another.  It  can  be  proved  to  him,  by 
a  very  simple  analysis  of  some  of  his  spare 
elements,  that  every  Sunday,  when  he  does 
his  duty  faithfully,  he  uses  up  more  phos 
phorus  out  of  his  brain  and  nerves  than  on 
ordinary  days.  But  then  he  had  his  choice 
whether  to  do  his  duty,  or  to  neglect  it, 
and  save  his  phosphorus  and  other  combus 
tibles. 

It  follows  from*  all  this  that  the  forma 
tion  of  habits  ought  naturally  to  be,  as  it  is, 
the  special  characteristic  of  age.  As  for  the 
muscular  powers,  they  pass  their  maximum 
long  before  the  time  when  the  true  decline 
of  life  begins,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  expe 
rience  of  the  ring.  A  man  is  "  stale,"  1 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  217 

think,  in  their  language,  soon  after  thirty, 
—  often,  no  doubt,  much  earlier,  as  gentle 
men  of  the  pugilistic  profession  are  exceed 
ingly  apt  to  keep  their  vital  fire  burning 
with  the  blower  up. 

—  So  far  without  Tully.  But  in  the 
mean  time  I  have  been  reading  the  treatise, 
"  De  Senectute."  It  is  not  long,  but  is  a 
leisurely  performance.  The  old  gentleman 
was  sixty-three  years  of  age  when  he  ad 
dressed  it  to  his  friend,  T.  Pomponius  At- 
ticus,  Eq.,  a  person  of  distinction,  some  two 
or  three  years  older.  We  read  it  when  we 
are  school-boys,  forget  all  about  it  for  thirty 
years,  and  then  take  it  up  again  by  a  nat 
ural  instinct,  —  provided  always  that  we 
read  Latin  as  we  drink  water,  without  stop 
ping  to  taste  it,  as  all  of  us  who  ever  learned 
it  at  school  or  college  ought  to  do. 

Cato  is  the  chief  speaker  in  the  dialogue. 
A  good  deal  of  it  is  what  would  be  called  in 
vulgar  phrase  "  slow."  It  unpacks  and  un 
folds  incidental  illustrations  which  a  modern 
writer  would  look  at  the  back  of,  and  toss 
each  to  its  pigeon-hole.  I  think  ancient 
classics  and  ancient  people  are  alike  in  the 
tendency  to  this  kind  of  expansion. 

An  old  doctor  came  to  me  once  (this  is 
literal  fact)  with  some  contrivance  or  other 


218  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

for  people  witli  broken  kneepans.  As  the 
patient  would  be  confined  for  a  good  while, 
he  might  find  it  dull  work  to  sit  with  his 
hands  in  his  lap.  Heading,  the  ingenious 
inventor  suggested,  would  be  an  agreeable 
mode  of  passing  the  time.  He  mentioned, 
in  his  written  account  of  his  contrivance, 
various  works  which  might  amuse  the  weary 
hour.  I  remember  only  three,  —  Don  Quix 
ote,  Tom  Jones,  and  Watts  on  the  Mind. 

It  is  not  generally  understood  that  Cic 
ero's  essay  was  delivered  as  a  lyceum  lecture 
(concio  popularis)  at  the  Temple  of  Mer 
cury.  The  journals  (papyri)  of  the  day 
("  Tempora  Quotidiana,"  —  "  Tribunus  Quir- 
inalis,"  —  "Pra3co  Romanus,"  and  the  rest) 
gave  abstracts  of  it,  one  of  which  I  have 
translated  and  modernized,  as  being  a  sub 
stitute  for  the  analysis  I  intended  to  make. 

IV.  Kal  Mart 

The  lecture  at  the  Temple  of  Mercury, 
last  evening,  was  well  attended  by  the  elite 
of  our  great  city.  Two  hundred  thousand 
sestertia  were  thought  to  have  been  repre 
sented  in  the  house.  The  doors  were  be 
sieged  by  a  mob  of  shabby  fellows  (illotum 
vulgus),  who  were  at  length  quieted  after 
two  or  three  had  been  somewhat  roughly 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  219 

handled  (gladio  jugulati).  The  speaker 
was  the  well-known  Mark  Tully,  Eq.,  — 
the  subject  Old  Age.  Mr.  T.  has  a  lean  anr, 
scraggy  person,  with  a  very  unpleasant  ex 
crescence  upon  his  nasal  feature,  from  which 
his  nickname  of  chick-pea  (Cicero)  is  said  by 
some  to  be  derived.  As  a  lecturer  is  public 
property,  we  may  remark,  that  his  outer  gar 
ment  (togci)  was  of  cheap  stuff  and  some 
what  worn,  and  that  his  general  style  and 
appearance  of  dress  and  manner  (habitus^ 
vestitusque)  were  somewhat  provincial. 

The  lecture  consisted  of  an  imaginary  dia 
logue  between  Cato  and  Lajlius.  We  found 
the  first  portion  rather  heavy,  and  retired  a 
few  moments  for  refreshment  (pocula  quon 
dam  mni}. — All  want  to  reach  old  age, 
says  Cato,  and  grumble  when  they  get  it ; 
therefore  they  are  donkeys.  —  The  lecturer 
will  allow  us  to  say  that  he  is  the  donkey ; 
we  know  we  shall  grumble  at  old  age,  but  we 
want  to  live  through  youth  and  manhood,  in 
spite  of  the  troubles  we  shall  groan  over.  — 
There  was  considerable  prosing  as  to  what 
old  age  can  do  and  can't.  —  True,  but  not 
new.  Certainly,  old  folks  can't  jump,  — 
break  the  necks  of  their  thigh-bones  (femo- 
rum  cervices),  if  they  do  ;  can't  crack  nuts 
with  their  teeth ;  can't  climb  a  greased  pole 


220  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

(malum  inunctum  scandere  non  possunt)  ; 
but  they  can  tell  old  stories  and  give  you 
good  advice  ;  if  they  know  what  you  have 
made  up  your  mind  to  do  when  you  ask 
them,  —  All  this  is  well  enough,  but  won't 
set  the  Tiber  on  fire  (Tiberim  accendere, 
nequaquam  potest.) 

There  were  some  clever  things  enough 
(dicta  Jiaud  inepta),  a  few  of  which  are 
worth  reporting.  —  Old  people  are  accused 
of  being  forgetful ;  but  they  never  forget 
where  they  have  put  their  money.  —  Nobody 
is  so  old  he  does  n't  think  he  can  live  a  year. 

—  The  lecturer  quoted  an  ancient  maxim,  — 
Grow  old  early,  if  you  would  be  old  long, 

—  but  disputed  it.  —  Authority,  he  thought, 
was  the  chief  privilege  of  age.  —  It  is  not 
great    to   have    money,  but   fine  to  govern 
those   who   have   it.  —  Old   age   begins  at 
forty-six  years,  according   to  the    common 
opinion.  —  It  is  not  every  kind  of  old  age  or 
of  wine  that  grows  sour  with  time.  —  Some 
excellent  remarks  were  made  on  immortal 
ity,  but  mainly  borrowed  from  and  credited 
to  Plato.  —  Several  pleasing  anecdotes  were 
told.  —  Old   Milo,    champion  of  the  heavy 
weights  in  his  day,  looked  at  his  arms  and 
whimpered,  "  They  are  dead."     Not  so  dead 
as  you,  you  old  fool,  —  says  Cato  ;  —  you 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  221 

never  were  good  for  anything  but  for  your 
shoulders  and  flanks.  —  Pisistratus  asked 
Solon  what  made  him  dare  to  be  so  obsti 
nate.  Old  age,  said  Solon. 

The  lecture  was  on  the  whole  acceptable, 
and  a  credit  to  our  culture  and  civilization. 
—  The  reporter  goes  on  to  state  that  there 
will  be  no  lecture  next  week,  on  account  of 
the  expected  combat  between  the  bear  and 
the  barbarian.  Betting  (sponsio)  two  to 
one  ( duo  ad  unum}  on  the  bear. 

—  After  all,  the  most  encouraging  things 
I  find  in  the  treatise,  "De  Senectute,"  are 
the  stories  of  men  who  have  found  new  oc 
cupations  when  growing  old,  or  kept  up  their 
common  pursuits  in  the  extreme  period  of 
life.  Cato  learned  Greek  when  he  was  old, 
and  speaks  of  wishing  to  learn  the  fiddle,  or 
some  such  instrument  (fidibus),  after  the 
example  of  Socrates.  Solon  learned  some 
thing  new,  every  day,  in  his  old  age,  as  he 
gloried  to  proclaim.  Cyrus  pointed  out  with 
pride  and  pleasure  the  trees  he  had  planted 
with  his  own  hand.  [I  remember  a  pillar 
on  the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  estate  at 
Alnwick,  with  an  inscription  in  similar 
words,  if  not  the  same.  That,  like  other 
country  pleasures,  never  wears  out.  None 


222  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

is  too  rich,  none  too  poor,  none  too  young, 
none  too  old  to  enjoy  it.]  There  is  a  New 
England  story  I  have  heard,  more  to  the 
point,  however,  than  any  of  Cicero's.  A 
young  farmer  was  urged  to  set  out  some  ap 
ple-trees.  —  No,  said  he,  they  are  too  long 
growing,  and  I  don't  want  to  plant  for  other 
people.  The  young  farmer's  father  was 
spoken  to  about  it,  but  he,  with  better  rea 
son,  alleged  that  apple-trees  were  slow  and 
life  was  fleeting.  At  last  some  one  men 
tioned  it  to  the  old  grandfather  of  the  young 
farmer.  He  had  nothing  else  to  do,  —  so 
he  stuck  in  some  trees.  He  lived  long 
enough  to  drink  barrels  of  cider  made  from 
the  apples  that  grew  on  those  trees. 

As  for  myself,  after  visiting  a  friend 
lately,  —  [Do  remember  all  the  time  that 
this  is  the  Professor's  paper.]--!  satis 
fied  myself  that  I  had  better  concede  the 
fact  that,  —  my  contemporaries  are  not  so 
•young  as  they  have  been',  —  and  that,  — 
awkward  as  it  is,  —  science  and  history  agree 
in  telling  me  that  I  can  claim  the  immuni 
ties  and  must  own  the  humiliations  of  the 
early  stage  of  senility.  Ah  !  but  we  have  all 
gone  down  the  hill  together.  The  dandies 
of  my  time  have  split  their  waistbands  and 
taken  to  high  low  shoes.  The  beauties  of 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.   '        223 

my  recollections  —  where  are  they  ?  They 
have  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  years  as  well 
as  I.  First  the  years  pelted  them  with  red 
roses  till  their  cheeks  were  all  on  fire.  By 
and  by  they  began  throwing  white  roses, 
and  that  morning  flush  passed  away.  At 
last  one  of  the  years  threw  a  snow-ball,  and 
after  that  no  year  let  the  poor  girls  pass 
without  throwing  snow  -  balls.  And  then 
came  rougher  missiles,  —  ice  and  stones  ; 
and  from  time  to  time  an  arrow  whistled, 
and  down  went  one  of  the  poor  girls.  So 
there  are  but  few  left ;  and  we  don't  call 
those  few  girls,  but  — 

Ah,  me !  here  am  I  groaning  just  as  the 
old  Greek  sighed  At,  at/  and  the  old  Roman, 
Elian !  1  have  no  doubt  we  should  die  of 
shame  and  grief  at  the  indignities  offered 
us  by  age,  if  it  were  not  that  we  see  so 
many  others  as  badly  as  or  worse  off  than 
ourselves.  We  always  compare  ourselves 
with  our  contemporaries. 

[I  was  interrupted  in  my  reading  just 
here.  Before  I  began  at  the  next  break 
fast,  I  read  them  these  verses  ;  —  I  hope  you 
will  like  them,  and  get  a  useful  lesson  from 
them.] 


224  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 


THE  LAST  BLOSSOM. 

Though  young  no  more,  we  still  would  dream 
Of  beauty's  dear  deluding  wiles; 

The  leagues  of  life  to  graybeards  seem 
Shorter  than  boyhood's  lingering  miles. 

Who  knows  a  woman's  wild  caprice  ? 

It  played  with  Goethe's  silvered  hair, 
And  many  a  Holy  Father's  "  niece  " 

Has  softly  smoothed  the  papal  chair. 

When  sixty  bids  us  sigh  in  vain 
To  melt  the  heart  of  sweet  sixteen, 

We  think  upon  those  ladies  twain 

Who  loved  so  well  the  tough  old  Dean. 

We  see  the  Patriarch's  wintry  face, 
The  maid  of  Egypt's  dusky  glow, 

And  dream  that  Youth  and  Age  embrace, 
As  April  violets  fill  with  snow. 

Tranced  in  her  Lord's  Olympian  smile 
His  lotus-loving  Memphian  lies,  — 

The  musky  daughter  of  the  Nile 
With  plaited  hair  and  almond  eyes. 

Might  we  but  share  one  wild  caress 
Ere  life's  autumnal  blossoms  fall, 

And  Earth's  brown,  clinging  lips  impress 
The  long  cold  kiss  that  waits  us  all ! 

My  bosom  heaves,  remembering  yet 
The  morning  of  that  blissful  day 

When  Rose,  the  flower  of  spring,  I  met, 
And  gave  my  raptured  soul  away. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  225 

Flung1  from  her  eyes  of  purest  blue, 

A  lasso,  with  its  leaping  chain 
Light  as  a  loop  of  larkspurs,  flew 

O'er  sense  and  spirit,  heart  and  brain. 

Thou  com'st  to  cheer  my  waning1  age, 

Sweet  vision,  waited  for  so  long  ! 
Dove  that  would  seek  the  poet's  cage 

Lured  by  the  magic  breath  of  song ! 

She  blushes !     Ah,  reluctant  maid, 

Love's  drapeau  rouge  the  truth  has  told  ; 

O'er  girlhood's  yielding  barricade 

Floats  the  great  Leveller's  crimson  fold! 

Come  to  my  arms  !  —  love  heeds  not  years. 

No  frost  the  bud  of  passion  knows.  — 
Ha  !   what  is  this  my  frenzy  hears  ? 

A  voice  behind  me  uttered,  —  Rose ! 

Sweet  was  her  smile,  —  but  not  for  me  ; 

Alas,  when  woman  looks  too  kind, 
Just  turn  your  foolish  head  and  see,  — 

Some  youth  is  walking  close  behind  I 


As  to  giving  up  because  the  almanac  or 
the  Family-Bible  says  that  it  is  about  time 
to  do  it,  I  have  no  intention  of  doing  any 
such  thing.  I  grant  you  that  I  burn  less 
carbon  than  some  years  ago.  I  see  people 
of  my  standing  really  good  for  nothing,  de 
crepit,  effete,  la  lecre  inferieure  deja  pen- 
dante,  with  what  little  life  they  have  left 
mainly  concentrated  in  their  epigastrium. 


226  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

But  as  the  disease  of  old  age  is  epidemic, 
endemic,  and  sporadic,  and  everybody  who 
lives  long  enough  is  sure  to  catch  it,  I  am 
going  to  say,  for  the  encouragement  of  such 
as  need  it,  how  I  treat  the  malady  in  my 
own  case. 

First.  As  I  feel,  that,  when  I  have  any 
thing  to  do,  there  is  less  time  for  it  than 
when  I  was  younger,  I  find  that  I  give  my 
attention  more  thoroughly,  and  use  my 
time  more  economically  than  ever  before  ; 
so  that  I  can  learn  anything  twice  as  easily 
as  in  my  earlier  days.  I  am  not,  therefore, 
afraid  to  attack  a  new  study.  I  took  up  a 
difficult  language  a  very  few  years  ago  with 
good  success,  and  think  of  mathematics  and 
metaphysics  by  and  by. 

Secondly.  I  have  opened  my  eyes  to  a 
good  many  neglected  privileges  and  pleas 
ures  within  my  reach,  and  requiring  only  a 
little  courage  to  enjoy  them.  You  may  well 
suppose  it  pleased  me  to  find  that  old  Cato 
was  thinking  of  learning  to  play  the  fiddle, 
when  I  had  deliberately  taken  it  up  in  my 
old  age,  and  satisfied  myself  that  I  could  get 
much  comfort,  if  not  much  music,  out  of  it. 

Thirdly.  I  have  found  that  some  of  those 
active  exercises,  which  are  commonly  thought 
to  belong  to  young  folks  only,  may  be  en 
joyed  at  a  much  later  period. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  227 

A  young  friend  lias  lately  written  an  ad 
mirable  article  in  one  of  the  journals,  enti 
tled,  "  Saints  and  their  Bodies."  Approv 
ing  of  his  general  doctrines,  and  grateful 
for  his  records  of  personal  experience,  I 
cannot  refuse  to  add  my  own  experimental 
confirmation  of  his  eulogy  of  one  particular 
form  of  active  exercise  and  amusement, 
namely,  'boating.  For  the  past  nine  years, 
I  have  rowed  about,  during  a  good  part  of 
the  summer,  on  fresh  or  salt  water.  My 
present  fleet  on  the  river  Charles  consists  of 
three  row-boats.  1.  A  small  flat-bottomed 
skiff  of  the  shape  of  a  flat-iron,  kept  mainly 
to  lend  to  boys.  2.  A  fancy  "  dory  "  for 
two  pairs  of  sculls,  in  which  I  sometimes  go 
out  with  my  young  folks.  3.  My  own  par 
ticular  water-sulky,  a  "  skeleton  "  or  "  shell  " 
race-boat,  twenty-two  feet  long,  with  huge 
outriggers,  which  boat  I  pull  with  ten-foot 
sculls,  —  alone,  of  course,  as  it  holds  but 
one,  and  tips  him  out,  if  he  does  n't  mind 
what  he  is  about.  In  this  I  glide  around 
the  Back  Bay,  down  the  stream,  up  the 
Charles  to  Cambridge  and  Watertown,  up 
the  Mystic,  round  the  wharves,  in  the  wake 
of  steamboats,  which  leave  a  swell  after 
them  delightful  to  rock  upon ;  I  linger 
under  the  bridges,  —  those  "  caterpillar 


228  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

bridges,"  as  my  brother  professor  so  hap 
pily  called  them ;  rub  against  the  black 
sides  of  old  wood-schooners ;  cool  down  un 
der  the  overhanging  stern  of  some  tall  India- 
man  ;  stretch  across  to  the  Navy  Yard, 
where  the  sentinel  warns  me  off  from  the 
Ohio,  —  just  as  if  I  should  hurt  her  by  lying 
in  her  shadow ;  then  strike  out  into  the  har 
bor,  where  the  water  gets  clear  and  the  air 
smells  of  the  ocean,  —  till  all  at  once  I  re 
member,  that,  if  a  west  wind  blows  up  of  a 
sudden,  I  shall  drift  along  past  the  islands, 
out  of  sight  of  the  dear  old  State-house,  — 
plate,  tumbler,  knife  and  fork  all  waiting 
at  home,  but  no  chair  drawn  up  at  the  ta 
ble,  —  all  the  dear  people  waiting,  waiting, 
waiting,  while  the  boat  is  sliding,  sliding, 
sliding  into  the  great  desert,  where  there 
is  no  tree  and  no  fountain.  As  I  don't 
want  my  wreck  to  be  washed  up  on  one 
of  the  beaches  in  company  with  devil's  - 
aprons,  bladder-weeds,  dead  horse-shoes,  and 
bleached  crab-shells,  I  turn  about  and  flap 
my  long,  narrow  wings  for  home.  When 
the  tide  is  running  out  swiftly,  I  have  a 
splendid  fight  to  get  through  the  bridges, 
but  always  make  it  a  rule  to  beat,  —  though 
I  have  been  jammed  up  into  pretty  tight 
places  at  times,  and  was  caught  once  be- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  229 

tween  a  vessel  swinging  round  and  the  pier, 
until  our  bones  (the  boat's,  that  is)  cracked 
as  if  we  had  been  in  the  jaws  of  Behemoth. 
Then  back  to  my  moorings  at  the  foot  of 
the  Common,  off  with  the  rowing-dress,  dash 
under  the  green  translucent  wave,  return  to» 
the  garb  of  civilization,  walk  through  my 
Garden,  take  a  look  at  my  elms  on  the 
Common,  and,  reaching  my  habitat,  in  con 
sideration  of  my  advanced  period  of  life,  in^ 
dulge  in  the  Elysian  abandonment  of  a  huge 
recumbent  chair. 

When  I  have  established  a  pair  of 
well-pronounced  feathering-calluses  on  my 
thumbs,  when  I  am  in  training  so  that  I 
can  do  my  fifteen  miles  at  a  stretch  without 
coming  to  grief  in  any  way,  when  I  can  per 
form  my  mile  in  eight  minutes  or  a  little 
more,  then  I  feel  as  if  I  had  old  Time's 
head  in  chancery,  and  could  give  it  to  him 
at  my  leisure. 

I  do  not  deny  the  attraction  of  walking. 
I  have  bored  this  ancient  city  through  and 
through  in  my  daily  travels,  until  I  know  it 
as  an  old  inhabitant  of  a  Cheshire  knows 
his  cheese.  Why,  it  was  I  who,  in  the 
course  of  these  rambles,  discovered  that  re 
markable  avenue  called  Myrtle  Street, 
stretching  in  one  long  line  from  east  of  the 


230  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Reservoir  to  a  precipitous  and  rudely  paved 
cliff  which  looks  down  on  the  grim  abode 
of  Science,  and  beyond  it  to  the  far  hills ; 
a  promenade  so  delicious  in  its  repose,  so 
cheerfully  varied  with  glimpses  down  the 
•northern  slope  into  busy  Cambridge  Street 
with  its  iron  river  of  the  horse-railroad,  and 
wheeled  barges  gliding  back  and  forward 
over  it,  —  so  delightfully  closing  at  its  west 
ern  extremity  in  sunny  courts  and  passages 
where  I  know  peace,  and  beauty,  and  virtue, 
and  serene  old  age  must  be  perpetual  ten 
ants,  —  so  alluring  to  all  who  desire  to  take 
their  daily  stroll,  in  the  words  of  Dr. 
Watts,  - 

"  Alike  unknowing  and  unknown,"  — 

that  nothing  but  a  sense  of  duty  would  have 
prompted  me  to  reveal  the  secret  of  its  ex 
istence.  I  concede,  therefore,  that  walking 
is  an  immeasurably  fine  invention,  of  which 
old  age  ought  constantly  to  avail  itself. 

Saddle-leather  is  in  some  respects  even 
preferable  to  sole  -  leather.  The  principal 
objection  to  it  is  of  a  financial  character. 
But  you  may  be,  sure  that  Bacon  and  Syd- 
enhanr  did  not  recommend  it  for  nothing. 
One's  hepar,  or,  in  vulgar  language,  liver, 
—  a  ponderous  organ,  weighing  some  three 
or  four  pounds,  —  goes  up  and  down  like 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  231 

the  dasher  of  a  churn  in  the  midst  of  the 
other  vital  arrangements,  at  every  step  of  a 
trotting  horse.  The  brains  also  are  shaken 
up  like  coppers  in  a  money-box.  Eiding  is 
good,  for  those  that  are  born  with  a  silver- 
mounted  bridle  in  their  hand,  and  can  ride 
as  much  and  as  often  as  they  like,  without 
thinking  all  the  time  they  hear  that  steady 
grinding  sound  as  the  horse's  jaws  triturate 
with  calm  lateral  movement  the  bank-bills 
and  promises  to  pay  upon  which  it  is  noto 
rious  that  the  profligate  animal  in  question 
feeds  day  and  night. 

Instead,  however,  of  considering  these 
kinds  of  exercise  in  this  empirical  way,  I 
will  devote  -a  brief  space  to  an  examination 
of  them  in  a  more  scientific  form. 

The  pleasure  of  exercise  is  due  first  to  a 
purely  physical  impression,  and  secondly  to 
a  sense  of  power  in  action.  The  first  source 
of  pleasure  varies  of  course  with  our  condi 
tion  and  the  state  of  the  surrounding  cir 
cumstances  ;  the  second  with  the  amount 
and  kind  of  power,  and  the  extent  and  kind 
of  action.  In  all  forms  of  active  exercise 
there  are  three  powers  simultaneously  in 
action,  —  the  will,  the  muscles,  and  the  in 
tellect.  Each  of  these  predominates  in  dif 
ferent  kinds  of  exercise.  In  walking,  the 


232  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

will  and  muscles  are  so  accustomed  to  work 
together  and  perform  their  task  with  so  lit 
tle  expenditure  of  force,  that  the  intellect  is 
left  comparatively  free.  The  mental  pleas 
ure  in  walking,  as  such,  is  in  the  sense  of 
power  over  all  our  moving  machinery.  But 
in  riding,  I  have  the  additional  pleasure  of 
governing  another  will,  and  my  muscles  ex 
tend  to  the  tips  of  the  animal's  ears  and  to 
his  four  hoofs,  instead  of  stopping  at  my 
hands  and  feet.  Now  in  this  extension  of 
my  volition  and  my  physical  frame  into  an 
other  animal,  my  tyrannical  instincts  and 
my  desire  for  heroic  strength  are  at  once 
gratified.  When  the  horse  ceases  to  have 
a  will  of  his  own  and  his  muscles  require 
no  special  attention  on  your  part,  then  you 
may  live  on  horseback  as  Wesley  did,  and 
write  sermons  or  take  naps,  as  you  like. 
But  you  will  observe,  that,  in  riding  on 
horseback  you  always  have  a  feeling,  that, 
after  all,  it  is  not  you  that  do  the  work,  but 
the  animal,  and  this  prevents  the  satisfac 
tion  from  being  complete. 

Now  let  us  look  at  the  conditions  of  row 
ing.  I  won't  suppose  you  to  be  disgracing 
yourself  in  one  of  those  miserable  tubs,  tug 
ging  in  which  is  to  rowing  the  true  boat 
what  riding  a  cow  is  to  bestriding  an  Arab. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  238 

You  know  the  Esquimaux  kayak  (if  that  is 
the  name  of  it),  don't  you?  Look  at  that 
model  of  one  over  my  door.  Sharp,  rather  ? 
—  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  lubber  to  the  one 
you  and  I  must  have ;  a  Dutch  fish-wife  to 
Psyche,  contrasted  with  what  I  will  tell  you 
about.  —  Our  boat,  then,  is  something  of 
the  shape  of  a  pickerel,  as  you  look  down 
upon  his  back,  he  lying  in  the  sunshine  just 
where  the  sharp  edge  of  the  water  cuts  in 
among  the  lily-pads.  It  is  a  kind  of  giant 
pod,  as  one  may  say,  —  tight  everywhere, 
except  in  a  little  place  in  the  middle,  where 
you  sit.  Its  length  is  from  seven  to  ten 
yards,  and  as  it  is  only  from  sixteen  to  thirty 
inches  wide  in  its  widest  part,  you  under 
stand  why  you  want  those  "  outriggers,"  or 
projecting  iron  frames  with  the  rowlocks  in 
which  the  oars  play.  My  rowlocks  are  five 
feet  apart ;  double  the  greatest  width  of  the 
boat. 

Here  you  are,  then,  afloat  with  a  body  a 
rod  and  a  half  long,  with  arms,  or  wings, 
as  you  may  choose  to  call  them,  stretching 
more  than  twenty  feet  from  tip  to  tip ; 
every  volition  of  yours  extending  as  per 
fectly  into  them  as  if  your  spinal  cord  ran 
down  the  centre  strip  of  your  boat,  and  the 
nerves  of  your  arms  tingled  as  far  as  the 


234  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

broad  blades  of  your  oars,  —  oars  of  spruce, 
balanced,  leathered  and  ringed  under  your 
own  special  direction.  This,  in  sober  ear 
nest,  is  the  nearest  approach  to  flying  that 
man  has  ever  made  or  perhaps  ever  will 
make.1  As  the  hawk  sails  without  flapping 
his  pinions,  so  you  drift  with  the  tide  when 

1  Since  the  days  when  this  was  written  the  bicycle  has 
appeared  as  the  rival  of  the  wherry.  I  have  witnessed 
three  appearances  of  the  pedal  locomotive.  The  first 
was  when  I  was  a  boy.  (The  machine  was  introduced 
into  Great  Britain  from  France  about  1820.)  Some  of 
the  Harvard  College  students  who  boarded  in  my  neigh 
borhood  had  these  machines,  then  called  velocipedes,  on 
which  they  used  to  waddle  along  like  so  many  ducks, 
their  feet  pushing  against  the  ground,  and  looking  as  if 
they  were  perched  on  portable  treadmills.  They  soon 
found  that  legs  were  made  before  velocipedes.  Our 
grown-up  young  people  may  remember  the  second  ad 
vent  of  the  contrivance,  now  become  a  treadle-locomo 
tive.  There  were  "rinks"  where  this  form  of  roller- 
skating  had  a  brief  run,  and  then  legs  again  asserted 
their  prior  claim  and  greater  convenience.  At  the  Cen 
tennial  Exhibition  at  Philadelphia,  in  1876,  I  first  saw 
the  modern  bicycles,  some  of  them,  at  least,  from  Coven 
try,  England.  *  Since  that  time  the  bicycle  glides  in  and 
out  everywhere,  noiseless  as  a  serpent, 

And  [wheels]  rush  in  where  [horses]  fear  to  tread. 
The  boat  flies  like  a  sea-bird  with  its  long,  narrow,  out 
stretched  pinions ;  the  bicycle  rider,  like  feathered  Mer 
cury,  with  his  wings  on  his  feet.  There  seems  to  be 
nothing  left  to  perfect  in  the  way  of  human  locomotion 
but  aerial  swimming,  which  some  fancy  is  to  be  a  con 
quest  of  the  future. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  235 

you  will,  in  the  most  luxurious  form  of  loco 
motion  indulged  to  an  embodied  spirit.  But 
if  your  blood  wants  rousing,  turn  round  that 
stake  in  the  river,  which  you  see  a  mile 
from  here ;  and  when  you  come  in  in  six 
teen  minutes  (if  you  do,  for  we  are  old 
boys,  and  not  champion  scullers,  you  re 
member),  then  say  if  you  begin  to  feel  a 
little  warmed  up  or  not !  You  can  row 
easily  and  gently  all  day,  and  you  can  row 
yourself  blind  and  black  in  the  face  in  ten 
minutes,  just  as  you  like.  It  has  been  long 
agreed  that  there  is  no  way  in  which  a  man 
can  accomplish  so  much  labor  with  his  mus 
cles  as  in  rowing.  It  is  in  the  boat,  then, 
that  man  finds  the  largest  extension  of  his 
volitional  and  muscular  existence ;  and  yet 
he  may  tax  both  of  them  so  slightly,  in  that 
most  delicious  of  exercises,  that  he  shall 
mentally  write  his  sermon,  or  his  poem,  or 
recall  the  remarks  he  has  made  in  company 
and  put  them  in  form  for  the  public,  as  well 
as  in  his  easy-chair. 

I  dare  not  publicly  name  the  rare  joys, 
the  infinite  delights,  that  intoxicate  me  on 
some  sweet  June  morning,  when  the  river 
and  bay  are  smooth  as  a  sheet  of  beryl-green 
silk,  and  I  run  along  ripping  it  up  with  my 
knife-edged  shell  of  a  boat,  the  rent  closing 


236  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

after  me  like  those  wounds  of  angels  which 
Milton  tells  of,  but  the  seam  still  shining  for 
many  a  long  rood  behind  me.  To  lie  still 
over  the  Flats,  where  the  waters  are  shal 
low,  and  see  the  crabs  crawling  and  the  scul- 
pins  gliding  busily  and  silently  beneath  the 
boat,  —  to  rustle  in  through  the  long  harsh 
grass  that  leads  up  some  tranquil  creek,  — 
to  take  shelter  from  the  sunbeams  under 
one  of  the  thousand-footed  bridges,  and  look 
down  its  interminable  colonnades,  crusted 
with  green  and  oozy  growths,  studded  with 
minute  barnacles,  and  belted  with  rings  of 
dark  mussels,  while  overhead  streams  and 
thunders  that  other  river  whose  every  wave 
is  a  human  soul  flowing  to  eternity  as  the 
river  below  flows  to  the  ocean,  —  lying  there 
moored  unseen,  in  loneliness  so  profound 
that  the  columns  of  Tadmor  in  the  Desert 
could  not  seem  more  remote  from  life  —  the 
cool  breeze  on  one's  forehead,  the  stream 
whispering  against  the  half-sunken  pillars, 
—  why  should  I  tell  of  these  things,  that  I 
should  live  to  see  my  beloved  haunts  invaded 
and  the  waves  blackened  with  boats  as  with 
a  swarm  of  water-beetles  ?  What  a  city  of 
idiots  we  must  be  not  to  have  covered  this 
glorious  bay  with  gondolas  and  wherries,  as 
we  have  just  learned  to  cover  the  ice  in  win 
ter  with  skaters ! 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  237 

I  am  satisfied  that  such  a  set  of  black- 
coated,  stiff- jointed,  soft-muscled,  paste-com- 
plexioned  youth  as  we  can  boast  in  our  At 
lantic  cities  never  before  sprang  from  loins 
of  Anglo  -  Saxon  lineage.  Of  the  females 
that  are  the  mates  of  these  males  I  do  not 
here  speak.  I  preached  my  sermon  from 
the  lay-pulpit  on  this  matter  a  good  while 
ago.  Of  course,  if  you  heard  it,  you  know 
my  belief  is  that  the  total  climatic  influences 
here  are  getting  up  a  number  of  new  pat 
terns  of  humanity,  some  of  which  are  not 
an  improvement  on  the  old  model.  Clipper- 
built,  sharp  in  the  bows,  long  in  the  spars, 
slender  to  look  at,  and  fast  to  go,  the  ship, 
which  is  the  great  organ  of  our  national  life 
of  relation,  is  but  a  reproduction  of  the  typ 
ical  form  which  the  elements  impress  upon 
its  builder.  All  this  we  cannot  help ;  but 
we  can  make  the  best  of  these  influences, 
such  as  they  are.  We  have  a  few  good 
boatmen,  —  no  good  horsemen  that  I  hear 
of,  —  I  cannot  speak  for  cricketing,  —  but 
as  for  any  great  athletic  feat  performed  by 
a  gentleman  in  these  latitudes,  society  would 
drop  a  man  who  should  run  round  the  Com 
mon  in  five  minutes.  Some  of  our  amateur 
fencers,  single-stick  players,  and  boxers,  we 
have  110  reason  to  be  ashamed  of.  Boxing 


238  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

is  rough  play,  but  not  too  rough  for  a  hearty 
young  fellow.  Anything  is  better  than  this 
white-blooded  degeneration  to  which  we  all 
tend. 

I  dropped  in  at  a  gentlemen's  sparring 
exhibition  only  last  evening.  It  did  my 
heart  good  to  see  that  there  were  a  few 
young  and  youngish  youths  left  who  could 
take  care  of  their  own  heads  in  case  of 
emergency.  It  is  a  fine  sight,  that  of  a  gen 
tleman  resolving  himself  into  the  primitive 
constituents  of  his  humanity.  Here  is  a 
delicate  young  man  now,  with  an  intellectual 
countenance,  a  slight  figure,  a  subpallid  com 
plexion,  a  most  unassuming  deportment,  a 
mild  adolescent  in  fact,  that  any  Hiram 
or  Jonathan  from  between  the  ploughtails 
would  of  course  expect  to  handle  with  per 
fect  ease.  Oh,  he  is  taking  off  his  gold- 
bowed  spectacles  !  Ah,  he  is  divesting  him 
self  of  his  cravat !  Why,  he  is  stripping  off 
his  coat !  Well,  here  he  is,  sure  enough,  in 
a  tight  silk  shirt,  and  with  two  things  that 
look  like  batter  puddings  in  the  place  of  his 
fists.  Now  see  that  other  fellow  with  another 
pair  of  batter  puddings,  —  the  big  one  with 
the  broad  shoulders  ;  he  will  certainly  knock 
the  little  man's  head  off,  if  he  strikes  him. 
Feinting,  dodging,  stopping,  hitting,  coun- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  239 

tering,  —  little  man's  head  not  off  yet.  You 
might  as  well  try  to  jump  upon  your  own 
shadow  as  to  hit  the  little  man's  intellectual 
features.  He  needn't  have  taken  off  the 
gold-bowed  spectacles  at  all.  Quick,  cau 
tious,  shifty,  nimble,  cool,  he  catches  all  the 
fierce  lunges  or  gets  out  of  their  reach,  till 
his  turn  comes,  and  then,  whack  goes  one 
of  the  batter  puddings  against  the  big  one's 
ribs,  and  bang  goes  the  other  into  the  big 
one's  face  and,  staggering,  shuffling,  slip 
ping,  tripping,  collapsing,  sprawling,  down 
goes  the  big  one  in  a  miscellaneous  bundle. 
—  If  my  young  friend,  whose  excellent  arti 
cle  I  have  referred  to,  could  only  introduce 
the  manly  art  of  self-defence  among  the 
clergy,  I  am  satisfied  that  we  should  have 
better  sermons  and  an  infinitely  less  quar 
relsome  church  -  militant.  A  bout  with  the 
gloves  would  let  off  the  ill-nature,  and  cure 
the  indigestion,  which,  united,  have  em 
broiled  their  subject  in  a  bitter  controversy. 
We  should  then  often  hear  that  a  point  of 
difference  between  an  infallible  and  a  here 
tic,  instead  of  being  vehemently  discussed  in 
a  series  of  newspaper  articles,  had  been  set 
tled  by  a  friendly  contest  in  several  rounds, 
at  the  close  of  which  the  parties  sliook  hands 
and  appeared  cordially  reconciled. 


240  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

But  boxing  you  and  I  are  too  old  for,  I 
am  afraid.  I  was  for  a  moment  tempted, 
by  the  contagion  of  muscular  electricity  last 
evening,  to  try  the  gloves  with  the  Benicia 
Boy,  who  looked  in  as  a  friend  to  the  noble 
art ;  but  remembering  that  he  had  twice  my 
weight  and  half  my  age,  besides  the  advan 
tage  of  his  training,  I  sat  still  and  said  noth 
ing. 

There  is  one  other  delicate  point  I  wish  to 
speak  of  with  reference  to  old  age.  I  refer 
to  the  use  of  dioptric  media  which  correct 
the  diminished  refracting  power  of  the  hu 
mors  of  the  eye,  —  in  other  words,  spectacles. 
I  don't  use  them.  All  I  ask  is  a  large,  fair 
type,  a  strong  daylight  or  gas-light,  and  one 
yard  of  focal  distance,  and  my  e^es  are  as 
good  as  ever.  But  if  your  eyes  fail,  I  can 
tell  you  something  encouraging.  There  is 
now  living  in  New  York  State  an  old  gentle 
man  who,  perceiving  his  sight  to  fail,  imme 
diately  took  to  exercising  it  on  the  finest 
print,  and  in  this  way  fairly  bullied  Nature 
out  of  her  foolish  habit  of  taking  liberties 
at  five-and-forty,  or  thereabout.  And  now 
this  old  gentleman  performs  the  most  ex 
traordinary  feats  with  his  pen,  showing  that 
his  eyes  must  be  a  pair  of  microscopes.  I 
should  be  afraid  to  say  to  you  how  much  he 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  241 

writes  in  the  compass  of  a  half -dime, — 
whether  the  Psalms  or  the  Gospels,  or  the 
Psalms  and  the  Gospels,  I  won't  be  positive. 
But  now  let  me  tell  you  this.  If  the  time 
comes  when  you  must  lay  down  the  fiddle 
and  the  bow,  because  your  fingers  are  too 
stiff,  and  drop  the  ten-foot  sculls,  because 
your  arms  are  too  weak,,  and,  after  dallying 
a  while  with  eye-glasses,  come  at  last  to  the 
undisguised  reality  of  spectacles,  —  if  the 
time  comes  when  that  fire  of  life  we  spoke 
of  has  burned  so  low  that  where  its  flames 
reverberated  there  is  only  the  sombre  stain 
of  regret,  and  where  its  coals  glowed,  only 
the  white  ashes  that  cover  the  embers  of 
memory,  —  don't  let  your  heart  grow  cold, 
and  you  may  carry  cheerfulness  and  love 
with  you  into  the  teens  of  your  second  cen 
tury,  if  you  can  last  so  long.  As  our  friend, 
the  Poet,  once  said,  in  some  of  those  old- 
fashioned  heroics  of  his  which  he  keeps  for 
his  private  reading,  — 

Call  him  not  old,  whose  visionary  brain 

Holds  o'er  the  past  its  undivided  reign. 

For  him  in  vain  the  envious  seasons  roll 

Who  bears  eternal  summer  in  his  soul. 

Tf  yet  the  minstrel's  song1,  the  poet's  lay, 

Spring-  with  her  birds,  or  children  with  their  play, 

Or  maiden's  smile,  or  heavenly  dream  of  art 

Stir  the  few  life-drops  creeping  round  his  heurt,  — • 


242  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Turn  to  the  record  where  his  years  are  told,  — 
Count  his  gray  hairs,  —  they  cannot  make  him  old ! 
End  of  the  Professor's  paper. 

[The  above  essay  was  not  read  at  one  time, 
but  in  several  instalments,  and  accompanied 
by  various  comments  from  different  persons 
at  the  table.  The  company  were  in  the  main 
attentive,  with  the  exception  of  a  little  som 
nolence  on  the  part  of  the  old  gentleman 
opposite  at  times,  and  a  few  sly,  malicious 
questions  about  the  "  old  boys  "  on  the  part 
of  that  forward  young  fellow  who  has  figured 
occasionally,  not  always  to  his  advantage,  in 
these  reports. 

On  Sunday  mornings,  in  obedience  to  a 
feeling  I  am  not  ashamed  of,  I  have  always 
tried  to  give  a  more  appropriate  character  to 
our  conversation.  I  have  never  read  them 
my  sermon  yet,  and  I  don't  know  that  I 
shall,  as  some  of  them  might  take  my  con 
victions  as  a  personal  indignity  to  them 
selves.  But  having  read  our  company  so 
much  of  the  Professor's  talk  about  age  and 
other  subjects  connected  with  physical  life, 
I  took  the  next  Sunday  morning  to  repeat 
to  them  the  following  poem  of  his,  which  I 
have  had  by  me  some  time.  He  calls  it  —  I 
suppose  for  his  professional  friends  —  THE 
ANATOMIST'S  HYMN;  but  I  shall  name  it — ] 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  243 


THE  LIVING  TEMPLE. 

Not  in  the  world  of  light  alone, 

Where  God  has  built  his  blazing  throne, 

Nor  yet  alone  in  earth  below, 

With  belted  seas  that  come  and  go, 

And  endless  isles  of  sunlit  green, 

Is  all  thy  Maker's  glory  seen  : 

Look  in  upon  thy  wondrous  frame,  — 

Eternal  wisdom  still  the  same  ! 

The  smooth,  soft  air  with  pulse-like  waves 
Flows  murmuring  through  its  hidden  caves 
Whose  streams  of  brightening  purple  rush 
Fired  with  a  new  and  livelier  blush, 
While  all  their  burden  of  decay 
The  ebbing  current  steals  away, 
And  red  with  Nature's  flame  they  start 
From  the  warm  fountains  of  the  heart. 

No  rest  that  throbbing  slave  may  ask, 
Forever  quivering  o'er  his  task, 
While  far  and  wide  a  crimson  jet 
Leaps  forth  to  fill  the  woven  net 
Which  in  unnumbered  crossing  tides 
The  flood  of  burning  life  divides, 
Then  kindling  each  decaying  part 
Creeps  back  to  find  the  throbbing  heart. 

But  warmed  with  that  unchanging  flame 
Behold  the  outward  moving  frame, 
Its  living  marbles  jointed  strong 
With  glistening  band  and  silvery  thong, 
And  linked  to  reason's  guiding  reins 
By  myriad  rings  in  trembling  chains, 
Each  graven  with  the  threaded  zone 
Which  claims  it  as  the  master's  own. 


244  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

See  how  yon  beam  of  seeming  white 
Is  braided  out  of  seven-hued  light, 
Yet  in  those  lucid  globes  no  ray 
By  any  chance  shall  break  astray. 
Hark  how  the  rolling  surge  of  sound, 
Arches  and  spirals  circling  round, 
Wakes  the  hushed  spirit  through  thine  ear 
With  music  it  is  heaven  to  hear. 

Then  mark  the  cloven  sphere  that  holds 
All  thought  in  its  mysterious  folds, 
That  feels  sensation's  faintest  thrill 
And  flashes  forth  the  sovereign  will ; 
Think  on  the  stormy  world  that  dwells 
Locked  in  its  dim  and  clustering  cells ! 
The  lightning  gleams  of  power  it  sheds 
Along  its  slender  glassy  threads  ! 

0  Father !   grant  thy  love  divine 
To  make  these  mystic  temples  thine  ! 
When  wasting  age  and  wearying  strife 
Have  sapped  the  leaning  walls  of  life, 
When  darkness  gathers  over  all, 
And  the  last  tottering  pillars  fall, 
Take  the  poor  dust  thy  mercy  warms 
And  mould  it  into  heavenly  forms. 


VIII. 

[SPRING  has  come.  You  will  find  some 
verses  to  that  effect  at  the  end  of  these  notes. 
If  you  are  an  impatient  reader,  skip  to  them 
at  once.  In  reading  aloud,  omit,  if  you 
please,  the  sixth  and  seventh  verses.  These 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  245 

are  parenthetical  and  digressive,  and,  unless 
your  audience  is  of  superior  intelligence, 
will  confuse  them.  Many  people  can  ride 
on  horseback  who  find  it  hard  to  get  on  and 
to  get  off  without  assistance.  One  has  to  dis 
mount  from  an  idea,  and  get  into  the  saddle 
again,  at  every  parenthesis.] 

-The  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite, 
finding  that  spring  had  fairly  come,  mounted 
a  white  hat  one  day,  and  walked  into  the 
street.  It  seems  to  have  been  a  premature 
or  otherwise  exceptionable  exhibition,  not 
unlike  that  commemorated  by  the  late  Mr. 
Bayly.  When  the  old  gentleman  came  home, 
he  looked  very  red  in  the  face,  and  com 
plained  that  he  had  been  "made  sport  of." 
By  sympathizing  questions,  I  learned  from 
him  that  a  boy  had  called  him  "  old  daddy," 
and  asked  him  when  he  had  his  hat  white 
washed. 

This  incident  led  me  to  make  some  obser 
vations  at  table  the  next  morning,  which  I 
here  repeat  for  the  benefit  of  the  readers  of 
this  record. 

-  The  hat  is  the  vulnerable  point  of  the 
artificial  integument.  I  learned  this  in  early 
boyhood.  I  was  once  equipped  in  a  hat  of 
Leghorn  straw,  having  a  brim  of  much  wider 
dimensions  than  were  usual  at  that  time, 


246  THE  AUTOCRAT   OF 

and  sent  to  school  in  that  portion  of  my 
native  town  which  lies  nearest  to  this  me 
tropolis.  On  my  way  I  was  met  by  a  "  Port- 
chuck,"  as  we  used  to  call  the  young  gen 
tlemen  of  that  locality,  and  the  following 
dialogue  ensued. 

The  Port-chuck.  Hullo,  You-sir,  joo  know 
th'  wuz  goii-to  be  a  race  to-morrah  ? 

Myself.  No.  Who  's  gon  -  to  run,  '11' 
wher  's  't  goii-to  be  ? 

The  Port-chuck.  Squire  Mycall  'n'  Doc 
tor  Williams,  round  the  brim  o'  your  hat. 

These  two  much-respected  gentlemen  be 
ing  the  oldest  inhabitants  at  that  time,  and 
the  alleged  race  -  course  being  out  of  the 
question,  the  Port-chuck  also  winking  and 
thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  I  per 
ceived  that  I  had  been  trifled  with,  and  the 
effect  has  been  to  make  me  sensitive  and  ob 
servant  respecting  this  article  of  dress  ever 
since.  Here  is  an  axiom  or  two  relating 
to  it. 

A  hat  which  has  been  popped,  or  exploded 
by  being  sat  down  upon,  is  never  itself  again 
afterwards. 

It  is  a  favorite  illusion  of  sanguine  natures 
to  believe  the  contrary. 

Shabby  gentility  has  nothing  so  charac 
teristic  as  its  hat.  There  is  always  an  un- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  247 

natural  calmness  about  its  nap,  and  an  un 
wholesome  gloss,  suggestive  of  a  wet  brush. 

The  last  effort  of  decayed  fortune  is 
expended  in  smoothing  its  dilapidated  cas 
tor.  The  hat  is  the  ultimum.  moriens  of  "  re 
spectability/' 

—  The  old  gentleman  took  all  these  re 
marks  and  maxims  very  pleasantly,  saying, 
however,  that  he  had  forgotten  most  of  his 
French   except    the    word    for    potatoes,  — 
pummies   de    tare.  —  Ultimum    moriens^    I 
told  him,  is  old  Italian,  and   signifies   last 
thing  to  die.     With  this  explanation  he  was 
well  contented,  and  looked  quite  calm  when 
I  saw  him  afterwards  in  the  entry  with  a 
black  hat  on  his  head  and  the  white  one  in 
his  hand. 

—  I  think  myself  fortunate  in  having  the 
Poet  and  the   Professor  for  my  intimates. 
We  are  so  much  together,  that  we  no  doubt 
think  and  talk  a  good  deal  alike  ;  yet  our 
points  of  view  are  in  many  respects  individ 
ual  and  peculiar.    You  know  me  well  enough 
by  this  time.     I  have  not  talked  with  you  so 
long  for  nothing,  and  therefore  I  don't  think 
it  necessary  to  draw  my  own  portrait.     But 
let  me  say  a  word  or  two  about  my  friends. 

The   Professor  considers   himself,  and  I 


248  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

consider  him,  a  very  useful  and  worthy  kind 
of  drudge.  I  think  he  has  a  pride  in  his 
small  technicalities.  I  know  that  he  has  a 
great  idea  of  fidelity  ;  and  though  I  suspect 
he  laughs  a  little  inwardly  at  times,  at  the 
grand  airs  "  Science  "  puts  on,  as  she  stands 
marking  time,  but  not  getting  on,  while  the 
trumpets  are  blowing  and  the  big  drums 
beating,  —  yet  I  am  sure  he  has  a  liking  for 
his  specialty,  and  a  respect  for  its  cultivators. 

But  I'll  tell  you  what  the  Professor  said 
to  the  Poet  the  other  day.  —  My  boy,  said 
he,  I  can  work  a  great  deal  cheaper  than 
you,  because  I  keep  all  my  goods  in  the 
lower  story.  You  have  to  hoist  yours  into 
the  upper  chambers  of  the  brain,  and  let 
them  down  again  to  your  customers.  I  take 
mine  in  at  the  level  of  the  ground,  and  send 
them  off  from  my  door-step  almost  without 
lifting.  I  tell  you,  the  higher  a  man  has  to 
carry  the  raw  material  of  thought  before  lie 
works  it  up,  the  more  it  costs  him  in  blood, 
nerve,  and  muscle.  Coleridge  knew  all  this 
very  well  when  he  advised  every  literary 
man  to  have  a  profession. 

—  Sometimes  I  like  to  talk  with  one  of 
them,  and  sometimes  with  the  other.  After 
a  while  I  get  tired  of  both.  When  a  fit  of 
intellectual  disgust  comes  over  me,  I  will  tell 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  249 

you  what  I  have  found  admirable  as  a  diver 
sion,  in  addition  to  boating  and  other  amuse 
ments  which  I  have  spoken  of,  —  that  is, 
working  at  my  carpenter's  -  bench.  Some 
mechanical  employment  is  the  greatest  pos 
sible  relief,  after  the  purely  intellectual  fac 
ulties  begin  to  tire.  When  I  was  quar 
antined  once  at  Marseilles,  I  got  to  work 
immediately  at  carving  a  wooden  wonder  of 
loose  rings  on  a  stick,  and  got  so  interested 
in  it,  that,  when  we  were  let  out,  I  "  regained 
my  freedom  with  a  sigh,"  because  my  toy 
was  unfinished. 

There  are  long  seasons  when  I  talk  only 
with  the  Professor,  and  others  when  I  give 
myself  wholly  up  to  the  Poet.  Now  that 
my  winter's  work  is  over  and  spring  is  with 
us,  I  feel  naturally  drawn  to  the  Poet's  com 
pany.  I  don't  know  anybody  more  alive  to 
life  than  he  is.  The  passion  of  poetry  seizes 
on  him  every  spring,  he  says,  —  yet  often 
times  he  complains,  that  when  he  feels  most, 
he  can  sing  least. 

Then  a  fit  of  despondency  comes  over  him. 
—  I  feel  ashamed  sometimes,  —  said  he,  the 
other  day,  —  to  think  how  far  my  worst 
songs  fall  below  my  best.  It  sometimes 
seems  to  me,  as  I  know  it  does  to  others  who 
have  told  me  so,  that  they  ought  to  be  all 


250  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

best,  —  if  not  in  actual  execution,  at  least  in 
plan  and  motive.  I  ana  grateful  —  lie  con 
tinued  —  for  all  such  criticisms.  A  man  is 
always  pleased  to  have  his  most  serious  ef 
forts  praised,  and  the  highest  aspect  of  his 
nature  get  the  most  sunshine. 

Yet  I  am  sure,  that,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  many  minds  must  change  their  key 
now  and  then,  on  penalty  of  getting  out  of 
tune  or  losing  their  voices.  You  know,  I 
suppose,  —  he  said,  —  what  is  meant  by  com 
plementary  colors?  You  know  the  effect, 
too,  which  the  prolonged  impression  of  any 
one  color  has  on  the  retina.  If  you  close 
your  eyes  after  looking  steadily  at  a  red  ob 
ject,  you  see  a  green  image. 

It  is  so  with  many  minds,  —  I  will  not  say 
with  ah1.  After  looking  at  one  aspect  of  ex 
ternal  nature,  or  of  any  form  of  beauty  or 
truth,  when  they  turn  away,  the  complement 
tary  aspect  of  the  same  object  stamps  itself 
irresistibly  and  automatically  upon  the  mind. 
Shall  they  give  expression  to  this  secondary 
mental  state,  or  not  ? 

When  I  contemplate  —  said  my  friend, 
the  Poet  —  the  infinite  largeness  of  compre 
hension  belonging  to  the  Central  Intelligence, 
how  remote  the  creative  conception  is  from 
all  scholastic  and  ethical  formulae,  I  am  led 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  251 

to  think  that  a  healthy  mind  ought  to  change 
its  mood  from  time  to  time,  and  come  down 
from  its  noblest  condition,  —  never,  of  course, 
to  degrade  itself  by  dwelling  upon  what  is 
itself  debasing,  but  to  let  its  lower  faculties 
have  a  chance  to  air  and  exercise  themselves. 
After  the  first  and  second  floor  have  been 
out  in  the  bright  street  dressed  in  all  their 
splendors,  shall  not  our  humble  friends  in 
the  basement  have  their  holiday,  and  the  cot 
ton  velvet  and  the  thin-skinned  jewelry  — 
simple  adornments,  but  befitting  the  station 
of  those  who  wear  them  —  show  themselves 
to  the  crowd,  who  think  them  beautiful,  as 
they  ought  to,  though  the  people  up-stairs 
know  that  they  are  cheap  and  perishable  ? 

—  I  don't  know  that  I  may  not  bring  the 
Poet  here,  some  day  or  other,  and  let  him 
speak  for  himself.  Still  I  think  I  can  tell 
you  what  he  says  quite  as  well  as  he  could 
do  it.  —  Oh,  —  he  said  to  me,  one  day,  —  I 
am  but  a  hand-organ  man,  —  say  rather,  a 
hand-organ.  Life  turns  the  winch,  and  fancy 
or  accident  pulls  out  the  stops.  I  come  un 
der  your  windows,  some  fine  spring  morn 
ing,  and  play  you  one  of  my  adagio  move 
ments,  and  some  of  you  say,  —  This  is  good, 
—  play  us  so  always.  But,  dear  friends,  if 
I  did  not  change  the  stop  sometimes,  the 


252  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

machine  would  wear  out  in  one  part  and 
rust  in  another.  How  easily  this  or  that 
tune  flows  !  —  you  say,  —  there  must  be  no 
end  of  just  such  melodies  in  him.  —  I  will 
open  the  poor  machine  for  you  one  moment, 
and  you  shall  look.  —  Ah!  Every  note 
marks  where  a  spur  of  steel  has  been  driven 
in.  It  is  easy  to  grind  out  the  song,  but  to 
plant  these  bristling  points  which  make  it 
was  the  painful  task  of  time. 

I  don't  like  to  say  it,  —  he  continued,  — 
but  poets  commonly  have  no  larger  stock  of 
tunes  than  hand-organs  ;  and  when  you  hear 
them  piping  up  under  your  window,  you 
know  pretty  well  what  to  expect.  The  more 
stops,  the  better.  Do  let  them  all  be  pulled 
out  in  their  turn ! 

So  spoke  my  friend,  the  Poet,  and  read 
me  one  of  his  stateliest  songs,  and  after  it  a 
gay  chanson,  and  then  a  string  of  epigrams. 
All  true,  —  he  said,  —  all  flowers  of  his  soul; 
only  one  with  the  corolla  spread,  and  another 
with  its  disk  half  opened,  and  the  third  with 
the  heart-leaves  covered  up  and  only  a  petal 
or  two  showing  its  tip  through  the  calyx0 
The  water-lily  is  the  type  of  the  poet's  soul, 
—  he  told  me. 

—  What  do  you  think,  Sir,  —  said  the 
divinity-student,  —  opens  the  souls  of  poets 
most  fully  ? 


THE  BRP:AKF AST-TABLE.        253 

Why,  there  must  be  the  internal  force 
and  the  external  stimulus.  Neither  is  enough 
by  itself.  A  rose  will  not  flower  in  the  dark, 
and  a  fern  will  not  flower  anywhere. 

What  do  I  think  is  the  true  sunshine  that 
opens  the  poet's  corolla?  —  I  don't  like  to 
say.  They  spoil  a  good  many,  I  am  afraid ; 
or  at  least  they  shine  on  a  good  many  that 
never  come  to  anything. 

Who  are  they  ?  —  said  the  schoolmistress. 

Women.  Their  love  first  inspires  the 
poet,  and  their  praise  is  his  best  reward. 

The  schoolmistress  reddened  a  little,  but 
looked  pleased.  —  Did  I  really  think  so  ?  —  I 
do  think  so ;  I  never  feel  safe  until  I  have 
pleased  them ;  I  don't  think  they  are  the 
first  to  see  one's  defects,  but  they  are  the 
first  to  catch  the  color  and  fragrance  of  a 
true  poem.  Fit  the  same  intellect  to  a  man 
and  it  is  a  bow-string,  —  to  a  woman  and  it 
is  a  harp-string.  She  is  vibratile  and  reso 
nant  all  over,  so  "she  stirs  with  slighter  mu 
sical  tremblings  of  the  air  about  her.  —  Ah, 
me  !  —  said  my  friend,  the  Poet,  to  me,  the 
other  day,  —  what  color  would  it  not  have 
given  to  my  thoughts,  and  what  thrice-washed 
whiteness  to  my  words,  had  I  been  fed  on 
women's  praises  !  I  should  have  grown  like 
Marvell's  fawn,  — 


254  TEE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

"  Lilies  without  ;   roses  within!  " 

But  then,  —  lie  added,  —  we  all  think,  if  so 
and  so,  we  should  have  been  this  or  that,  as 
you  were  saying  the  other  da}^,  in  those 
rhymes  of  yours. 

—  I  don't  think  there  are  many  poets  in 
the  sense  of  creators ;  but  of  those  sensitive 
natures  which  reflect  themselves  naturally  in 
soft  and  melodious  words,  pleading  for  sym 
pathy  with  their  joys  and  sorrows,  every 
literature  is  full.  Nature  carves  with  her 
own  hands  the  brain  which  holds  the  creative 
imagination,  but  she  casts  the  over-sensitive 
creatures  in  scores  from  the  same  mould. 

There  are  two  kinds 'of  poets,  just  as  there 
are  two  kinds  of  blondes.  [Movement  of 
curiosity  among  our  ladies  at  table.  —  Please 
to  tell  us  about  those  blondes,  said  the  school 
mistress.]  Why,  there  are  blondes  who  are 
such  simply  by  deficiency  of  coloring  matter, 
—  negative  or  washed  blondes,  arrested  by 
Nature  on  the  way  to  become  albinesses. 
There  are  others  that  are  shot  through  with 
golden  light,  with  tawny  or  fulvous  tinges  in 
various  degree,  — positive  or  stained  blondes, 
dipped  in  yellow  sunbeams,  and  as  unlike  in 
their  mode  of  being  to  the  others  as  an 
orange  is  unlike  a  snowball.  The  albino- 
style  carries  with  it  a  wide  pupil  and  a  sensi- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  255 

tive  retina.  The  other,  or  the  leonine  blonde, 
has  an  opaline  fire  in  her  clear  eye,  which 
the  brunette  can  hardly  match  with  her 
quick  glittering  glances. 

Just  so  we  have  the  great  sun-kindled, 
constructive  imaginations,  and  a  far  more 
numerous  class  of  poets  who  have  a  certain 
kind  of  moonlight-genius  given  them  to  com 
pensate  for  their  imperfection  of  nature. 
Their  want  of  mental  coloring-matter  makes 
them  sensitive  to  those  impressions  which 
stronger  minds  neglect  or  never  feel  at  all. 
Many  of  them  die  young,  and  all  of  them 
are  tinged  with  melancholy.  There  is  no 
more  beautiful  illustration  of  the  principle 
of  compensation  which  marks  the  Divine  be 
nevolence  than  the  fact  that  some  of  the  hol 
iest  lives  and  some  of  the  sweetest  songs  are 
the  growth  of  the  infirmity  which  unfits  its 
subject  for  the  rougher  duties  of  life.  When 
one  reads  the  life  of  Cowper,  or  of  Keats,  or 
of  Lucretia  and  Margaret  Davidson,  —  of  so 
many  gentle,  sweet  natures,  born  to  weak 
ness,  and  mostly  dying  before  their  time,  — 
one  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  human 
race  dies  out  singing,  like  the  swan  in  the 
old  story.  The  French  poet,  Gilbert,  who 
died  at  the  Hotel  Dieu,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
nine,  —  (killed  by  a  key  in  his  throat,  which 


256  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

he  had  swallowed  when  delirious  in  conse 
quence  of  a  fall),  —  this  poor  fellow  was  a 
very  good  example  of  the  poet  by  excess  of 
sensibility.  I  found,  the  other  day,  that 
some  of  my  literary  friends  had  never  heard 
of  him,  though  I  suppose  few  educated 
Frenchmen  do  not  know  the  lines  which  he 
wrote,  a  week  before  his  death,  upon  a  mean 
bed  in  the  great  hospital  of  Paris. 

"  Au  banquet  de  la  vie,  infortune*  convive 

J'apparus  un  jour,  et  je  meurs  ; 
Je  meurs,  et  sur  ma  tombe,  ou  lentement  j'arrive 
Nul  ne  viendra  verser  des  pleurs." 

At  life's  gay  banquet  placed,  a  poor  unhappy  guest, 

One  day  I  pass,  then  disappear  ; 
I  die,  and  on  the  tomb  where  I  at  length  shall  rest 
No  friend  shall  come  to  shed  a  tear. 

You  remember  the  same  thing  in  other 
words  somewhere  in  Kirke  White's  poems. 
It  is  the  burden  of  the  plaintive  songs  of  all 
these  sweet  albino-poets.  "  I  shall  die  and 
be  forgotten,  and  the  world  will  go  on  just 
as  if  I  had  never  been ;  —  and  yet  how  I 
have  loved !  how  I  have  longed !  how  I  have 
aspired  !  "  And  so  singing,  their  eyes  grow 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  their  features 
thinner  and  thinner,  until  at  last  the  veil  of 
flesh  is  threadbare,  and,  still  singing,  they 
drop  it  and  pass  onward. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  257 

—  Our  brains  are  seventy -year  clocks. 
The  Angel  of  Life  winds  them  up  once  for 
all,  then  closes  the  case,  and  gives  the  key 
into  the  hand  of  the  Angel  of  the  Resurrec 
tion. 

Tic-tac !  tic-tac  !  go  the  wheels  of  thought ; 
our  will  cannot  stop  them ;  they  cannot  stop 
themselves ;  sleep  cannot  still  them ;  mad 
ness  only  makes  them  go  faster ;  death  alone 
can  break  into  the  case,  and,  seizing  the 
ever-swinging  pendulum,  which  we  call  the 
heart,  silence  at  last  the  clicking  of  the  ter 
rible  escapement  we  have  carried  so  long 
beneath  our  wrinkled  foreheads. 

If  we  could  only  get  at  them,  as  we  lie  on 
our  pillows  and  count  the  dead  beats  of 
thought  after  thought  and  image  after  im 
age  jarring  through  the  overtired  organ ! 
Will  nobody  block  those  wheels,  uncouple 
that  pinion,  cut  the  string  that  holds  those 
weights,  blow  up  the  infernal  machine  with 
gunpowder?  What  a  passion  comes  over 
us  sometimes  for  silence  and  rest! — that 
this  dreadful  mechanism,  unwinding  the 
endless  tapestry  of  time,  embroidered  with 
spectral  figures  of  life  and  death,  could  have 
but  one  brief  holiday !  Who  can  wonder 
that  men  swing  themselves  off  from  beams 
in  henipen  lassos  ?  —  that  they  jump  off 


258  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

from  parapets  into  the  swift  and  gurgling 
waters  beneath  ?  —  that  they  take  counsel  of 
the  grim  friend  who  has  but  to  utter  his  one 
peremptory  monosyllable  and  the  restless 
machine  is  shivered  as  a  vase  that  is  dashed 
upon  a  marble  floor?  Under  that  building 
which  we  pass  every  day  there  are  strong 
dungeons,  where  neither  hook,  nor  bar,  nor 
bed-cord,  nor  drinking-vessel  from  which  a 
sharp  fragment  may  be  shattered,  shall  by 
any  chance  be  seen.  There  is  nothing  for 
it,  when  the  brain  is  on  fire  with  the  whirl 
ing  of  its  wheels,  but  to  spring  against  the 
stone  wall  and  silence  them  with  one  crash. 
Ah,  they  remembered  that,  —  the  kind  city 
fathers,  —  and  the  walls  are  nicely  padded, 
so  that  one  can  take  such  exercise  as  he 
likes  without  damaging  himself  on  the  very 
plain  and  serviceable  upholstery.  If  any 
body  would  only  contrive  some  kind  of  a 
lever  that  one  could  thrust  in  among  the 
works  of  this  horrid  automaton  and  check 
them,  or  alter  their  rate  of  going,  what 
would  the  world  give  for  the  discovery  ? 

—  From  half  a  dime  to  a  dime,  accord 
ing  to  the  style  of  the  place  and  the  quality 
of  the  liquor,  —  said  the  young  fellow  whom 
they  call  John. 

You  speak  trivially,  but  not  unwisely,  — 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  259 

I  said.  Unless  the  will  maintain  a  certain 
control  over  these  movements,  which  it  can 
not  stop,  but  can  to  some  extent  regulate, 
men  are  very  apt  to  try  to  get  at  the  ma 
chine  by  some  indirect  system  of  leverage  or 
other.  They  clap  on  the  brakes  by  means 
of  opium ;  they  change  the  maddening  mo 
notony  of  the  rhythm  by  means  of  fermented 
liquors.  It  is  because  the  brain  is  locked 
up  and  we  cannot  touch  its  movement  di 
rectly,  that  we  thrust  these  coarse  tools  in 
through  any  crevice,  by  which  they  may 
reach  the  interior,  and  so  alter  its  rate  of 
going  for  a  while,  and  at  last  spoil  the  ma 
chine. 

Men  who  exercise  chiefly  those  faculties 
of  the  mind  which  work  independently  of 
the  will,  —  poets  and  artists,  for  instance, 
who  follow  their  imagination  in  their  crea 
tive  moments,  instead  of  keeping  it  in  hand 
as  your  logicians  and  practical  men  do  with 
their  reasoning  faculty,  —  such  men  are  too 
apt  to  call  in  the  mechanical  appliances  to 
help  them  govern  their  intellects. 

—  He  means  they  get  drunk,  —  said  the 
young  fellow  already  alluded  to  by  name. 

Do  you  think  men  of  true  genius  are  apt 
to  indulge  in  the  use  of  inebriating  fluids  ? 
—  said  the  divinity-student. 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

If  yon  think  you  are  strong  enough  to 
bear  what  I  am  going  to  say,  —  I  replied, 

—  I  will  talk  to  you  about  this.     But  mind, 
now,  these  are  the  things  that  some  foolish 
people  call  dangerous  subjects,  —  as  if  these 
vices  which  burrow  into  people's   souls,  as 
the   Guinea-worm    burrows  into   the  naked 
feet  of  West-Indian  slaves,  would  be  more 
mischievous  when  seen  than  out  of  sight. 
Now  the  true  way  to  deal  with  those  obsti 
nate  animals,  which  are  a  dozen  feet  long, 
some  of  them,  and  no  bigger  than  a  horse 
hair,  is  to  get  a  piece  of   silk  round  their 
heads,  and  pull   them  out  very  cautiously. 
If  you  only  break  them  off,  they  grow  worse 
than  ever,   and  sometimes   kill  the   person 
who  has  the  misfortune  to  harbor  one  of 
them.     Whence   it   is  plain  that   the   first 
thing  to  do  is  to  find  out  where  the  head 
lies. 

Just  so  of  all  the  vices,  and  particularly 
of  this  vice  of  intemperance.  What  is  the 
head  of  it,  and  where  does  it  lie  ?  For  you 
may  depend  upon  it,  there  is  not  one  of 
these  vices  that  has  not  a  head  of  its  own, 

—  an  intelligence,  —  a  meaning,  —  a  certain 
virtue,  I  was  going  to  say,  — but  that  might, 
perhaps,  sound  paradoxical.     I  have  heard 
an  immense  number  of  moral  physicians  lay 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  261 

down  the  treatment  of  moral  Guinea-worms, 
and  the  vast  majority  of  them  would  always 
insist  that  the  creature  had  no  head  at  all, 
but  was  all  body  and  tail.  So  I  have  found 
a  very  common  result  of  their  method  to  be 
that  the  string  slipped,  or  that  a  piece  only 
of  the  creature  was  broken  off,  and  the 
worm  soon  grew  again,  as  bad  as  ever.  The 
truth  is,  if  the  Devil  could  only  appear  in 
church  by  attorney,  and  make  the  best  state 
ment  that  the  facts  would  bear  him  out  in 
doing  on  behalf  of  his  special  virtues  (what 
we  commonly  call  vices),  the  influence  of 
good  teachers  would  be  much  greater  than 
it  is.  For  the  arguments  by  which  the 
Devil  prevails  are  precisely  the  ones  that 
the  Devil-queller  most  rarely  answers.  The 
way  to  argue  down  a  vice  is  not  to  tell  lies 
about  it,  —  to  say  that  it  has  no  attractions, 
when  everybody  knows  that  it  has,  —  but 
rather  to  let  it  make  out  its  case  just  as  it 
certainly  will  in  the  moment  of  temptation, 
and  then  meet  it  with  the  weapons  furnished 
by  the  Divine  armory.  Ithuriel  did  not  spit 
the  toad  on  his  spear,  you  remember,  but 
touched  him  with  it,  and  the  blasted  angel 
took  the  sad  glories  of  his  true  shape.  If 
he  had  shown  fight  then,  the  fair  spirits 
would  have  known  how  to  deal  with  him. 


262  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

That  all  spasmodic  cerebral  action  is  an 
evil  is  not  perfectly  clear.  Men  get  fairly 
intoxicated  with  music,  with  poetry,  with  re 
ligious  excitement,  —  oftenest  with  love.  Ni 
non  de  1'Enclos  said  she  was  so  easily  excited 
that  her  soup  intoxicated  her,  and  convales 
cents  have  been  made  tipsy  by  a  beef -steak. 

There  are  forms  and  stages  of  alcoholic 
exaltation  which,  in  themselves,  and  without 
regard  to  their  consequences,  might  be  con 
sidered  as  positive  improvements  of  the  per 
sons  affected.  When  the  sluggish  intellect 
is  roused,  the  slow  speech  quickened,  the 
cold  nature  warmed,  the  latent  sympathy  de 
veloped,  the  flagging  spirit  kindled,  —  before 
the  trains  of  thought  become  confused,  or 
the  will  perverted,  or  the  muscles  relaxed, 
-  just  at  the  moment  when  the  whole  hu 
man  zoophyte  flowers  out  like  a  full-blown 
rose,  and  is  ripe  for  the  subscription-paper 
or  the  contribution-box,  —  it  would  be  hard 
to  say  that  a  man  was,  at  that  very  time, 
worse,  or  less  to  be  loved,  than  when  driving 
a  hard  bargain  with  all  his  meaner  wits 
about  him.  The  difficulty  is,  that  the  alco 
holic  virtues  don't  wash ;  but  until  the  water 
takes  their  colors  out,  the  tints  are  very 
much  like  those  of  the  true  celestial  stuff. 

[Here   I  was  interrupted  by  a  question 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  2G3 

which  I  am  very  unwilling  to  report,  but 
have  confidence  enough  in  those  friends  who 
examine  these  records  to  commit  to  their 
candor. 

A  person  at  table  asked  me  whether  I 
"went  in  for  rum  as  a  steady  drink?" — • 
His  manner  made  the  question  highly  offen 
sive,  but  I  restrained  myself,  and  answered 
thus :  — ] 

Rum  I  take  to  be  the  name  which  un 
washed  moralists  apply  alike  to  the  product 
distilled  from  molasses  and  the  noblest  juices 
of  the  vineyard.  Burgundy  "  in  all  its  sun 
set  glow  "is  rum.  Champagne,  soul  of  "  the 
foaming  grape  of  Eastern  France,"  is  rum. 
Hock,  which  our  friend,  the  Poet,  speaks 
of  as 

"  The  Rhine's  breastmilk,  gushing  cold  and  bright, 
Pale  as  the  moon,  and  maddening  as  her  light," 

is  rum.  Sir,  I  repudiate  the  loathsome  vul 
garism  as  an  insult  to  the  first  miracle 
wrought  by  the  Founder  of  our  religion  !  I 
address  myself  to  the  company.  —  I  believe 
in  temperance,  nay,  almost  in  abstinence,  as 
a  rule  for  healthy  people.  I  trust  that  I 
practise  both.  But  let  me  tell  you,  there 
are  companies  of  men  of  genius  into  which 
I  sometimes  go,  where  the  atmosphere  of  in 
tellect  and  sentiment  is  so  much  more  stimu- 


264  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

lating  than  alcohol,  that,  if  I  thought  lit  to 
take  wine,  it  would  be  to  keep  me  sober. 

Among  the  gentlemen  that  I  have  known, 
few,  if  any,  were  ruined  by  drinking.  My 
few  drunken  acquaintances  were  generally 
ruined  before  they  became  drunkards.  The 
habit  of  drinking  is  often  a  vice,  no  doubt, 
—  sometimes  a  misfortune,  —  as  when  an 
almost  irresistible  hereditary  propensity  ex 
ists  to  indulge  in  it,  —  but  oftenest  of  all 
a  punishment. 

Empty  heads,  —  heads  without  ideas  in 
wholesome  variety  and  sufficient  number  to 
furnish  food  for  the  mental  clockwork,  — 
ill-regulated  heads,  where  the  faculties  are 
not  under  the  control  of  the  will,  —  these 
are  the  ones  that  hold  the  brains  which  their 
owners  are  so  apt  to  tamper  with,  by  intro 
ducing  the  appliances  we  have  been  talking 
about.  Now,  when  a  gentleman's  brain  is 
empty  or  ill-regulated,  it  is,  to  a  great  ex 
tent,  his  own  fault ;  and  so  it  is  simple  retri 
bution,  that,  while  he  lies  slothfully  sleeping 
or  aimlessly  dreaming,  the  fatal  habit  settles 
on  him  like  a  vampire,  and  sucks  his  blood, 
fanning  him  all  the  while  with  its  hot  wings 
into  deeper  slumber  or  idler  dreams  !  I  am 
not  such  a  hard-souled  being  as  to  apply  this 
to  the  neglected  poor,  who  have  had  no 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  265 

chance  to  fill  their  heads  with  wholesome 
ideas,  and  to  be  taught  the  lesson  of  self- 
government.  I  trust  the  tariff  of  Heaven 
has  an  ad  valorem  scale  for  them,  —  and  all 
of  us. 

But  to  come  back  to  poets  and  artists ;  — 
if  they  really  are  more  prone  to  the  abuse  of 
stimulants,  —  and  I  fear  that  this  is  true,  — 
the  reason  of  it  is  only  too  clear.  A  man 
abandons  himself  to  a  fine  frenzy,  and  the 
power  which  flows  through  him,  as  I  once 
explained  to  you,  makes  him  the  medium 
of  a  great  poem  or  a  great  picture.  The 
creative  action  is  not  voluntary  at  all,  but 
automatic;  we  can  only  put  the  mind  into 
the  proper  attitude,  and  wait  for  the  wind, 
that  blows  where  it  listeth,  to  breathe  over 
it.  Thus  the  true  state  of  creative  genius  is 
allied  to  reverie,  or  dreaming.  If  mind  and 
body  were  both  healthy  and  had  food  enough 
and  fair  play,  I  doubt  whether  any  men 
would  be  more  temperate  than  the  imagina 
tive  classes.  But  body  and  mind  often  flag, 
—  perhaps  they  are  ill-made  to  begin  with, 
underfed  with  bread  or  ideas,  overworked, 
or  abused  in  some  way.  The  automatic  ac 
tion,  by  which  genius  wrought  its  wonders, 
fails.  There  is  only  one  thing  which  can 
rouse  the  machine  ;  not  will,  —  that  cannot 


266  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

reach  it,  nothing  but  a  ruinous  agent,  which 
hurries  the  wheels  a  while  and  soon  eats  out 
the  heart  of  the  mechanism.  The  dreaming 
faculties  ar©  always  the  dangerous  ones,  be 
cause  their  mode  of  action  can  be  imitated 
by  artificial  excitement ;  the  reasoning  ones 
are  safe,  because  they  imply  continued  vol 
untary  effort. 

I  think  you  will  find  it  true,  that,  before 
any  vice  can  fasten  on  a  man,  body,  mind, 
or  moral  nature  must  be  debilitated.  The 
mosses  and  fungi  gather  on  sickly  trees, 
not  thriving  ones  ;  and  the  odious  parasites 
which  fasten  on  the  human  frame  choose  that 
which  is  already  enfeebled,  Mr.  Walker, 
the  hygeian  humorist,  declared  that  he  had 
such  a  healthy  skin  it  was  impossible  for 
any  impurity  to  stick  to  it,  and  maintained 
that  it  was  an  absurdity  to  wash  a  face 
which  was  of  necessity  always  clean0  I  don't 
know  how  much  fancy  there  was  in  this  ;  but 
there  is  no  fancy  in  saying  that  the  lassitude 
of  tired-out  operatives,  and  the  languor  of 
imaginative  natures  in  their  periods  of  col 
lapse,  and  the  vacuity  of  minds  untrained 
to  labor  and  discipline,  fit  the  soul  and  body 
for  the  germination  of  the  seeds  of  intem 
perance. 

Whenever  the  wandering  demon  of  Drunk- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  267 

enness  finds  a  ship  adrift,  —  no  steady  wind 
in  its  sails,  no  thoughtful  pilot  directing  its 
course,  —  he  steps  on  board,  takes  the  helm, 
and  steers  straight  for  the  maelstrom. 

—  I    wonder    if    you   know   the    terrible 
smile  ?     [The  young  fellow  whom  they  call 
John  winked  very  hard,  and  made  a  jocular 
remark,  the  sense  of  which  seemed  to  de 
pend  on  some  double  meaning  of  the  word 
smile.     The  company  was  curious  to  know 
what  I  meant.] 

There  are  persons  —  I  said  —  who  no 
sooner  come  within  sight  of  you  than  they 
begin  to  smile,  with  an  uncertain  movement 
of  the  mouth,  which  conveys  the  idea  that 
they  are  thinking  about  themselves,  and 
thinking,  too,  that  you  are  thinking  they 
are  thinking  about  themselves,  —  and  so 
look  at  you  with  a  wretched  mixture  of  self- 
consciousness,  awkwardness,  and  attempts  to 
carry  off  both,  which  are  betrayed  by  the 
cowardly  behavior  of  the  eye  and  the  tell 
tale  weakness  of  the  lips  that  characterize 
these  unfortunate  beings. 

—  Why  do    you  call  them  unfortunate, 
Sir  ?  —  asked  the  divinity-student. 

Because  it  is  evident  that  the  conscious 
ness  of  some  imbecility  or  other  is  at  the 


268  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

bottom  of  this  extraordinary  expression.  1 
don't  think,  however,  that  these  persons  are 
commonly  fools.  I  have  known  a  number, 
and  all  of  them  were  intelligent.  I  think 
nothing  conveys  the  idea  of  underbreeding 
more  than  this  self-betraying  smile.  Yet  I 
think  this  peculiar  habit  as  well  as  that  of 
meaningless  blushing  may  be  fallen  into  by 
very  good  people  who  meet  often,  or  sit  op 
posite  each  other  at  table.  A  true  gentle 
man's  face  is  infinitely  removed  from  all 
such  paltriness,  —  calm-eyed,  firm-mouthed. 
I  think  Titian  understood  the  look  of  a  gen 
tleman  as  well  as  anybody  that  ever  lived. 
The  portrait  of  a  young  man  holding  a 
glove  in  his  hand,  in  the  Gallery  of  the 
Louvre,  if  any  of  you  have  seen  that  collec 
tion,  wiil  remind  you  of  what  I  mean. 

—  Do  I  think  these  people  know  the 
peculiar  look  they  have  ?  —  I  cannot  say  ;  I 
hope  not ;  I  am  afraid  they  would  never 
forgive  me,  if  they  did.  The  worst  of  it  is, 
the  trick  is  catching ;  when  one  meets  one 
of  these  fellows,  he  feels  a  tendency  to  the 
same  manifestation.  The  Professor  tells  me 
there  is  a  muscular  slip,  a  dependence  of  the 
platysma  myoides,  which  is  called  the  riso- 
rius  Santorini. 

—  Say  that   once  more,  —  exclaimed  the 
young  fellow  mentioned  above. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  269 

The  Professor  says  there  is  a  little  fleshy 
slip  called  Santorini's  laughing  muscle.  I 
would  have  it  cut  out  of  my  face,  if  I  were 
born  with  one  of  those  constitutional  grins 
upon  it.  Perhaps  I  am  uncharitable  in  my 
judgment  of  those  sour  -  looking  people  I 
told  you  of  the  other  day,  and  of  these  smil 
ing  folks.  It  may  be  that  they  are  born 
with  these  looks,  as  other  people  are  with 
more  generally  recognized  deformities.  Both 
are  bad  enough,  but  I  had  rather  meet  three 
of  the  scowlers  than  one  of  the  smilers. 

—  There  is  another  unfortunate  way  of 
looking,  which  is  peculiar  to  that  amiable 
sex  we  do  not  like  to  find  fault  with.  There 
are  some  very  pretty,  but,  unhappily,  very 
ill-bred  women,  who  don't  understand  the 
law  of  the  road  with  regard  to  handsome 
faces.  Nature  and  custom  would,  no  doubt, 
agree  in  conceding  to  all  males  the  right  of 
at  least  two  distinct  looks  at  every  comely 
femalcx  countenance,  without  any  infraction 
of  the  rules  of  courtesy  or  the  sentiment  of 
respect.  The  first  look  is  necessary  to  de 
fine  the  person  of  the  individual  one  meets 
so  as  to  recognize  an  acquaintance.  Any 
unusual  attraction  detected  in  a  first  glance 
is  a  sufficient  apology  for  a  second,  —  not  a 
prolonged  and  impertinent  stare,  but  an  ap- 


270  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

predating  homage  of  the  eyes,  such  as  a 
stranger  may  inoffensively  yield  to  a  pass 
ing  image.  It  is  astonishing  how  morbidly 
sensitive  some  vulgar  beauties  are  to  the 
slightest  demonstration  of  this  kind.  When 
a  lady  walks  the  streets,  she  leaves  her  vir 
tuous-indignation  countenance  at  home  ;  she 
knows  well  enough  that  the  street  is  a  pic 
ture-gallery,  where  pretty  faces  framed  in 
pretty  bonnets  are  meant  to  be  seen,  and 
everybody  has  a  right  to  see  them. 

—  When  we  observe  how  the   same  fea 
tures  and  style  of  person  and  character  de 
scend  from  generation  to  generation,  we  can 
believe  that   some  inherited  weakness  may 
account  for  these  peculiarities.     Little  snap- 
ping-turtles   snap  —  so  the  great  naturalist 
tells  us  —  before  they  are  fairly  out  of  the 
egg-shell.     I  am  satisfied,  that,  much  higher 
up  in  the  scale  of  life,  character  is  distinctly 
shown  at  the  age  of  —  2  or  —  3  months. 

—  My  friend,  the  Professor,  has  been  full 
of    eggs    lately.       [This    remark   excited    a 
burst   of  hilarity  which   I   did   not   allow  to 
interrupt   the   course   of  my  observations.] 
He  has  been  reading  the  great  book  where 
he  found  the  fact  about  the  little  snapping- 
turtles     mentioned     above.       Some    of    the 
things  he  has  told  me  have  suggested  sev 
eral  odd  analogies  enough. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  271 

There  are  lialf  a  dozen  men,  or  so,  who 
carry  in  their  brains  the  ovarian  eggs  of  the 
next  generation's  or  century's  civilization. 
These  eggs  are  not  ready  to  be.  laid  in  the 
form  of  books  as  yet;  some  of  them  are 
hardly  ready  to  be  piit  into  the  form  of  talk. 
But  as  rudimentary  ideas  or  inchoate  ten 
dencies,  there  they  are ;  and,  these  are  what 
must  form  the  future.  .  A  man's  general  no 
tions  are  not  good  for  much,  unless  he  has  a 
crop  of  these  intellectual  ovarian  eggs  in  his 
own  brain,  or  knows  them  as  they  exist  in 
the  minds  of  others.  One  must  be  in  the 
habit  of  talking  with  such  persons  to  get  at 
these  rudimentary  germs  of  thought ;  for 
their  development  is  necessarily  imperfect, 
and  they  are  moulded  on  new  patterns, 
which  must  be  long  and  closely  studied. 
But  these  are  the  men  to  talk  with.  No 
fresh  truth  ever  gets  into  a  book. 

—  A  good  many  fresh  lies  get  in,  anyhow, 

—  said  one  of  the  company. 

I  proceeded  in  spite  of  the  interruption. 

—  All  uttered  thought,  my  friend,  the  Pro 
fessor,  says,  is  of  the  nature  of  an  excretion. 
Its  materials  have  been  taken  in,  and  have 
acted  upon  the  system,  and  been  reacted  on 
by  it ;  it  has  circulated  and  done  its  office 
in  one  mind  before  it  is  given  out  for  the 


272  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

benefit  of  others.  It  may  be  milk  or  venom 
to  other  minds  ;  but,  in  either  case,  it  is 
something  which  the  producer  kas  had  the 
use  of  and  can  part  with.  A  man  instinct 
ively  tries  to  get  rid  of  his  thought  in  con 
versation  or  in  print  so  soon  as  it  is  ma 
tured  ;  but  it  is  hard  to  get  at  it  as  it  lies 
imbedded,  a  mere  potentiality,  the  germ  of 
a  germ,  in  his  intellect. 

—  Where  are  the  brains  that  are  fullest 
of  these  ovarian  eggs  of  thought  ?  —  I  de 
cline  mentioning  individuals.  The  producers 
of  thought,  who  are  few,  the  "jobbers  "  of 
thought,  who  are  many,  and  the  retailers  of 
thought,  who  are  numberless,  are  so  mixed 
up  in  the  popular  apprehension,  that  it 
would  be  hopeless  to  try  to  separate  them 
before  opinion  has  had  time  to  settle.  Fol 
low  the  course  of  opinion  on  the  great  sub 
jects  of  human  interest  for  a  few  genera 
tions  or  centuries,  get  its  parallax,  map  out 
a  small  arc  of  its  movement,  see  where  it 
tends,  and  then  see  who  is  in  advance  of  it 
or  even  with  it;  the  world  calls  him  hard 
names,  probably ;  but  if  you  would  find  the 
ova  of  the  future,  you  must  look  into  the 
folds  of  his  cerebral  convolutions. 

[The  divinity-student  looked  a  little  puz 
zled  at  this  suggestion,  as  if  he  did  not  see 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  273 

exactly  where  he  was  to  come  out,  if  he 
computed  his  arc  too  nicely.  I  think  it  pos 
sible  it  might  cut  off  a  few  corners  of  his 
present  belief,  as  it  has  cut  off  martyr-burn 
ing  and  witch  -  hanging ;  —  but  time  will 
show,  —  time  will  show,  as  the  old  gentle 
man  opposite  says.] 

-Oh, — here   is   that   copy  of  verses  I 
told  you  about. 

SPRING  HAS  COME. 

Intra  Muros. 

The  sunbeams,  lost  for  half  a  year, 

Slant  through  my  pane  their  morning1  rays 

For  dry  Northwesters  cold  and  clear, 
The  East  blows  in  its  thin  blue  haze. 

And  first  the  snowdrop's  bells  are  seen, 
Then  close  against  the  sheltering  wall 

The  tulip's  horn  of  dusky  green, 
The  peony's  dark  unfolding  ball. 

The  golden-chaliced  crocus  burns  ; 

The  long  narcissus-blades  appear ; 
The  cone-beaked  hyacinth  returns, 

And  lights  her  blue-flamed  chandelier. 

The  willow's  whistling  lashes,  wrung 
By  the  wild  winds  of  gusty  March, 

With  sallow  leaflets  lightly  strung, 
Are  swaying  by  the  tufted  larch. 


274  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

The  elms  have  robed  their  slender  spray 
With  full-blown  flower  and  embryo  leaf  ; 

Wide  o'er  the  clasping  arch  of  day 
Soars  like  a  cloud  their  hoary  chief. 

—  [See  the  proud  tulip's  flaunting-  cup, 
That  flames  in  glory  for  an  hour,  — 

Behold  it  withering,  —  then  look  up,  — 
How  meek  the  f  orast-monarch's  flower  !  — 

When  wake  the  violets,  Winter  dies  ; 

When  sprout  the  elm-buds,  Spring  is  near  j 
When  lilacs  blossom,  Summer  cries, 

"  Bud,  little  roses !  Spring  is  here  !  "] 

The  windows  blush  with  fresh  bouquets, 
Cut  with  the  May-dew  on  their  lips ; 

The  raddish  all  its  bloom  displays, 
Pink  as  Aurora's  finger-tips. 

Nor  less  the  flood  of  light  that  showers 
On  beauty's  changed  corolla-shades,  — 

The  walks  are  gay  as  bridal  bowers 
With  rows  of  many-petalled  maids. 

The  scarlet  shell-fish  click  and  clash 
In  the  blue  barrow  where  they  slide, 

The  horseman,  proud  of  streak  and  splash, 
Creeps  homeward  from  his  morning  ride. 

Here  comes  the  dealer's  awkward  string, 
With  neck  in  rope  and  tail  in  knot,  — 

Rough  colts,  with  careless  country-swing, 
In  lazy  walk  or  slouching  trot. 

- —  Wild  filly  from  the  mountain-side, 
Doomed  to  the  close  and  chafing  thills, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  275 

Lend  me  thy  long,  untiring-  stride 
To  seek  with  thee  thy  western  hills ! 

I  hear  the  whispering-  voice  of  Spring, 
The  thrush's  trill,  the  cat-bird's  cry, 

Like  some  poor  bird  with  prisoned  wing" 
That  sits  and  sings,  but  longs  to  fly. 

Oh  for  one  spot  of  living  green,  — 
One  little  spot  where  leaves  can  grow,  — • 

To  love  unblamed,  to  walk  unseen, 
To  dream  above,  to  sleep  below ! 


IX. 


[Aqui  estd  encerrada  el  alma  del  licen- 
siado  Pedro  Garcias. 

If  I  should  ever  make  a  little  book  out  of 
these  papers,  which  I  hope  you  are  not  get 
ting  tired  of,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  save  the 
above  sentence  for  a  motto  on  the  title-page. 
But  I  want  it  now,  and  must  use  it.  I  need 
not  say  to  you  that  the  words  are  Spanish, 
nor  that  they  are  to  be  found  in  the  short 
Introduction  to  "  Gil  Bias,"  nor  that  they 
mean,  "  Here  lies  buried  the  soul  of  the  li 
centiate  Pedro  Garcias." 

I  warned  all  young  people  off  the  premises 
when  I  began  my  notes  referring  to  old  age. 
I  must  be  equally  fair  with  old  people  now. 
They  are  earnestly  requested  to  leave  this 


276  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

paper  to  young  persons  from  the  age  of 
twelve  to  that  of  four-score  years  and  ten, 
at  which  latter  period  of  life  I  am  sure  that 
I  shall  have  at  least  one  youthful  reader. 
You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean  by  youth 
and  age ;  —  something  in  the  soul,  which 
has  no  more  to  do  with  the  color  of  the  hair 
than  the  vein  of  gold  in  a  rock  has  to  do 
with  the  grass  a  thousand  feet  above  it. 

I  am  growing  bolder  as  I  write.  I  think 
it  requires  not  only  youth,  but  genius,  to 
read  this  paper.  I  don't  mean  to  imply  that 
it  required  any  whatsoever  to  talk  what  I 
have  here  written  down.  It  did  demand  a 
certain  amount  of  memory,  and  such  com 
mand  of  the  English  tongue  as  is  given  by 
a  common  school  education.  So  much  I  do 
claim.  But  here  I  have  related,  at  length, 
a  string  of  trivialities.  You  must  have  the 
imagination  of  a  poet  to  transfigure  them. 
These  little  colored  patches  are  stains  upon 
the  windows  of  a  human  soul ;  stand  on  the 
outside,  they  are  but  dull  and  meaningless 
spots  of  color;  seen  from  within,  they  are 
glorified  shapes  with  empurpled  wings  and 
sunbright  aureoles. 

My  hand  trembles  when  I  offer  you  this,, 
Many  times  I  have  come  bearing  flowers 
such  as  my  garden  grew  ;  but  now  I  offer 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  277 

you  this  poor,  brown,  homely  growth,  you 
may  cast  it  away  as  worthless.  And  yet,  — 
and  yet,  —  it  is  something  better  than  flow 
ers  ;  it  is  a  seed-capsule.  Many  a  gardener 
will  cut  you  a  bouquet  of  his  choicest  blos 
soms  for  small  fee,  but  he  does  not  love  to 
let  the  seeds  of  his  rarest  varieties  go  out  of 
his  own  hands. 

It  is  by  little  things  that  we  know  our 
selves  ;  a  soul  would  very  probably  mistake 
itself  for  another,  when  once  disembodied, 
were  it  not  for  individual  experiences  which 
differ  from  those  of  others  only  in  details 
seemingly  trifling.  All  of  us  have  been 
thirsty  thousands  of  times,  and  felt,  with 
Pindar,  that  water  was  the  best  of  things. 
I  alone,  as  I  think,  of  all  mankind,  remem 
ber  one  particular  pailful  of  water,  flavored 
with  the  white-pine  of  which  the  pail  was 
made,  and  the  brown  mug  out  of  which  one 
Edmund,  a  red-faced  and  curly-haired  boy, 
was  averred  to  have  bitten  a  fragment  in 
his  haste  to  drink ;  it  being  then  high  sum 
mer,  and  little  full-blooded  boys  feeling  very 
warm  and  porous  in  the  low  -  "  studded  " 
school-room  where  Dame  Prentiss,  dead  and 
gone,  ruled  over  young  children,  many  of 
whom  are  old  ghosts  now,  and  have  known 
Abraham  for  twenty  or  thirty  years  of  our 
mortal  time. 


278  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Thirst  belongs  to  humanity,  everywhere, 
in  all  ages;  but  that  white-pine  pail,  and 
that  brown  mug  belong  to  me  in  particular  ; 
and  just  so  of  my  special  relationships  with 
other  things  and  with  my  race.  One  could 
never  remember  himself  in  eternity  by  the 
mere  fact  of  having  loved  or  hated  any  more 
than  by  that  of  having  thirsted ;  love  and 
hate  have  no  more 'individuality  in  them  than 
single  waves  in  the  ocean ;  —  but  the  acci 
dents  or  trivial  marks  which  distinguished 
those  whom  we  loved  or  hated  make  their 
memory  our  own  forever,  and  with  it  that  of 
our  own  personality  also. 

Therefore,  my  aged  friend  of  five  -  and- 
twenty,  or  thereabouts,  pause  at  the  threshold 
of  this  particular  record,  and  ask  yourself 
seriously  whether  you  are  fit  to  read  such 
revelations  as  are  to  follow.  For  observe, 
you  have  here  no  splendid  array  of  petals 
such  as  poets  offer  you,  —  nothing  but  a  dry 
shell,  containing,  if  you  will  get  out  what  is 
in  it,  a  few  small  seeds  of  poems.  You  may 
laugh  at  them,  if  you  like.  I  shall  never 
tell  you  what  I  think  of  you  for  so  doing. 
But  if  you  can  read  into  the  heart  of  these 
things,  in  the  light  of  other  memories  as 
slight  yet  as  dear  to  your  soul,  then  you  are 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  POET,  and  can 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  279 

afford  to  write  no  more  verses  during  the 
rest  of  your  natural  life,  —  which  abstinence 
I  take  to  be  one  of  the  surest  marks  of  your 
meriting  the  divine  name  I  have  just  be 
stowed  upon  you. 

May  I  beg  of  you  who  have  begun  this 
paper  nobly  trusting  to  your  own  imagination 
and  sensibilities  to  give  it  the  significance 
which  it  does  not  lay  claim  to  without  your 
kind  assistance,  —  may  I  beg  of  you,  I  say, 
to  pay  particular  attention  to  the  brackets 
which  inclose  certain  paragraphs  ?  I  want 
my  "  asides,"  you  see,  to  whisper  loud  to  you 
who  read  my  notes,  and  sometimes  I  talk  a 
page  or  two  to  you  without  pretending  that 
I  said  a  word  of  it  to  our  boarders.  You 
will  find  a  very  long  "  aside  "  to  you  almost 
as  soon  as  you  begin  to  read.  And  so,  dear 
young  friend,  fall  to  at  once,  taking  such 
things  as  I  have  provided  for  you  ;  and  if 
you  turn  them,  by  the  aid  of  your  powerful 
imagination,  into  a  fair  banquet,  why,  then, 
peace  be  with  you,  and  a  summer  by  the  still 
waters  of  some  quiet  river,  or  by  some  yel 
low  beach,  where,  as  my  friend,  the  Profes 
sor,  says,  you  can  sit  with  Nature's  wrist  in 
your  hand  and  count  her  ocean  pulses.] 

I  should  like  to  make  a  few  intimate  rev 
elations  relating  especially  to  my  early  life, 
if  I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear  them* 


280  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

[The  schoolmistress  turned  a  little  in  her 
chair,  and  sat  with  her  face  directed  partly 
toward  me.  —  Half -mourning  now  ;  —  purple 
ribbon.  That  breastpin  she  wears  has  gray 
hair  in  it ;  her  mother's  no  doubt :  —  I  re 
member  our  landlady's  daughter  telling  me, 
soon  after  the  schoolmistress  came  to  board 
with  us,  that  she  had  lately  "  buried  a  pay- 
rent."  That 's  what  made  her  look  so  pale, 

—  kept  the  poor  dying  thing  alive  with  her 
own    blood.     Ah!  long   illness   is   the    real 
vampyrism;  think  of  living  a  year  or  two 
after  one  is  dead,  by  sucking  the  life-blood 
out  of  a  frail  young  creature  at  one's  bed 
side  !     Well,  souls  grow   white,  as  well  as 
cheeks,  in  these  holy  duties  ;  one  that  goes 
in  a  nurse  may  come  out  an  angel.  —  God 
bless  all  good  women  !  —  to  their  soft  hands 
and  pitying  hearts  we  must  all  come  at  last ! 

—  The  schoolmistress  has  a  better  color  than 
when  she  came.  —  Too  late  !  —  "It  might 
have  been."  —  Amen ! 

—  How  many  thoughts  go  to  a  dozen 
heart-beats,  sometimes  !  There  was  no  long 
pause  after  my  remark  addressed  to  the 
company,  but  in  that  time  I  had  the  train  of 
ideas  and  feelings  I  have  just  given  flash 
through  my  consciousness  sudden  and  sharp 
as  the  crooked  red  streak  that  springs  out  of 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  281 

its  black  sheath  like  the  creese  of  a  Malay 
in  his  death-race,  and  stabs  the  earth  right 
and  left  in  its  blind  rage. 

I  don't  deny  that  there  was  a  pang  in  it, 
—  yes,  a  stab ;  but  there  was  a  prayer,  too, 
—  the  "  Amen  "  belonged  to  that.  —  Also,  a 
vision  of  a  four-story  brick  house,  nicely  fur 
nished,  —  I  actually  saw  many  specific  arti 
cles,  —  curtains,  sofas,  tables,  and  others, 
and  could  draw  the  patterns  of  them  at  this 
moment,  —  a  brick  house,  I  say,  looking  out 
on  the  water,  with  a  fair  parlor,  and  books 
and  busts  and  pots  of  flowers  and  bird-cages, 
all  complete  ;  and  at  the  window,  looking  on 
the  water,  two  of  us.  — "  Male  and  female 
created  He  them  "  —  These  two  were  stand 
ing  at  the  window,  when  a  smaller  shape 
that  was  playing  near  them  looked  up  at 

me  with  such  a  look  that  I poured 

out  a  glass  of  water,  drank  it  all  down,  and 
then  continued.] 

I  said  I  should  like  to  tell  you  some 
things,  such  as  people  commonly  never  tell, 
about  my  early  recollections.  Should  you 
like  to  hear  them  ? 

Should  we  like  to  hear  them  ?  —  said  the 
schoolmistress  ;  —  no,  but  we  should  love  to. 

[The  voice  was  a  sweet  one,  naturally, 
and  had  something  very  pleasant  in  its  tone, 


282  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

just  then.  —  The  four  -  story  brick  house, 
which  had  gone  out  like  a  transparency  when 
the  light  behind  it  is  quenched,  glimmered 
again  for  a  moment ;  parlor,  books,  busts, 
flower  -  pots,  bird-cages,  all  complete,  —  and 
the  figures  as  before.] 

We  are  waiting  with  eagerness,  Sir,  — 
said  the  divinity-student. 

[The  transparency  went  out  as  if  a  flash 
of  black  lightning  had  struck  it.] 

If  you  want  to  hear  my  confessions,  the 
next  thing,  —  I  said,  —  is  to  know  whether 
I  can  trust  you  with  them.  It  is  only  fair 
to  say  that  there  are  a  great  many  people 
in  the  world  who  laugh  at  such  things.  / 
think  they  are  fools,  but  perhaps  you  don't 
all  agree  with  me. 

Here  are  children  of  tender  age  talked  to 
as  if  they  were  capable  of  understanding 
Calvin's  "  Institutes,"  and  nobody  has  hon 
esty  or  sense  enough  to  tell  the  plain  truth 
about  the  little  wretches :  that  they  are  as 
superstitious  as  naked  savages,  and  such  mis 
erable  spiritual  cowards  —  that  is,  if  they 
have  any  imagination  —  that  they  will  be 
lieve  anything  which  is  taught  them,  and  a 
great  deal  more  which  they  teach  them 
selves, 

I  was  born  and  bred,  as  I  have  told  you 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  283 

twenty  times,  among  books  und  those  who 
knew  what  was  in  books.  I  was  carefully 
instructed  in  things  temporal  and  spiritual. 
But  up  to  a  considerable  maturity  of  child 
hood  I  believed  Raphael  and  Michael  An- 
gelo  to  have  been  superhuman  beings.  The 
central  doctrine  of  the  prevalent  religious 
faith  of  Christendom  was  utterly  confused 
and  neutralized  in  my  mind  for  years  by  one 
of  those  too  common  stories  of  actual  life, 
which  I  overheard  repeated  in  a  whisper.  — 
Why  did  I  not  ask?  you  will  say.  — You 
don't  remember  the  rosy  pudency  of  sensi 
tive  children.  The  first  instinctive  move 
ment  of  the  little  creatures  is  to  make  a 
cache,  and  bury  in  it  beliefs,  doubts,  dreams, 
hopes,  and  terrors.  I  am  uncovering  one  of 
these  caches.  Do  you  think  I  was  necessa 
rily  a  greater  fool  and  coward  than  another  ? 
I  was  afraid  of  ships.  Why,  I  could 
never  tell.  The  masts  looked  frightfully 
tall,  —  but  they  were  not  so  tall  as  the  stee 
ple  of  our  old  yellow  meeting  -  house.  At 
any  rate  I  used  to  hide  my  eyes  from  the 
sloops  and  schooners  that  were  wont  to  lie 
at  the  end  of  the  bridge,  and  I  confess  that 
traces  of  this  undefined  terror  lasted  very 
long.  —  One  other  source  of  alarm  had  a 
still  more  fearful  significance.  There  was  a 


284  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

great  wooden  HAND,  —  a  glove-maker's  sign, 
which  used,  to  swing  and  creak  in  the  blast, 
as  it  hung  from  a  pillar  before  a  certain 
shop  a  mile  or  two  outside  of  the  city.  Oh, 
the  dreadful  hand  !  Always  hanging  there 
ready  to  catch  up  a  little  boy,  who  would 
come  home  to  supper  no  more,  nor  yet  to 
bed,  —  whose  porringer  would  be  laid  away 
empty  thenceforth,  and  his  half-worn  shoes 
wait  until  his  small  brother  grew  to  fit  them. 
As  for  all  manner  of  superstitious  obser 
vances,  I  used  once  to  think  I  must  have 
been  peculiar  in  having  such  a  list  of  them, 
but  I  now  believe  that  half  the  children  of 
the  same  age  go  through  the  same  expe 
riences.  No  Roman  soothsayer  ever  had 
such  a  catalogue  of  omens  as  I  found  in  the 
Sibylline  leaves  of  my  childhood.  That 
trick  of  throwing  a  stone  at  a  tree  and  at 
taching  some  mighty  issue  to  hitting  or 
missing,  which  you  will  find  mentioned  in 
one  or  more  biographies,  I  well  remember. 
Stepping  on  or  over  certain  particular  things 
or  spots,  —  Dr.  Johnson's  especial  weak 
ness,  —  I  got  the  habit  of  at  a  very  early 
age.  —  I  won't  swear  that  I  have  not  some 
tendency  to  these  not  wise  practices  even  at 
this  present  date.  [How  many  of  you  that 
read  these  notes  can  say  the  same  thing !] 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  285 

"With  these  follies  mingled  sweet  delu 
sions,  which  I  loved  so  well  I  would  not 
outgrow  them,  even  when  it  required  a  vol 
untary  effort  to  put  a  momentary  trust  in 
them.  Here  is  one  which  I  cannot  help 
telling  you. 

The  firing  of  the  great  guns  at  the  Navy- 
yard  is  easily  heard  at  the  place  where  I 
was  born  and  lived.  "  There  is  a  ship  of 
war  come  in,"  they  used  to  say,  when  they 
heard  them.  Of  course,  I  supposed  that 
such  vessels  came  in  unexpectedly,  after  in 
definite  years  of  absence,  —  suddenly  as 
falling  stones ;  and  that  the  great  guns 
roared  in  their  astonishment  and  delight  at 
the  sight  of  the  old  war-ship  splitting  the 
bay  with  her  cutwater.  Now,  the  sloop-of- 
war  the  Wasp,  Captain  Blakely,  after  glo 
riously  capturing  the  Reindeer  and  the 
Avon,  had  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the 
ocean,  and  was  supposed  to  be  lost.  But 
there  was  no  proof  of  it,  and,  of  course,  for 
a  time,  hopes  were  entertained  that  she 
might  be  heard  from.  Long  after  the  last 
real  chance  had  utterly  vanished,  I  pleased 
myself  with  the  fond  illusion  that  some 
where  on  the  waste  of  waters  she  was  still 
floating,  and  there  were  years  during  which 
I  never  heard  the  sound  of  the  great  guns 


286  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

booming  inland  from  the  Navy-yard  without 
saying  to  myself,  "  The  Wasp  has  come  !  " 
and  almost  thinking  I  could  see  her,  as  she 
rolled  in,  crumpling  the  water  before  her, 
weather-beaten,  barnacled,  with  shattered 
spars  and  threadbare  canvas,  welcomed  by 
the  shouts  and  tears  of  thousands.  This 
was  one  of  those  dreams  that  I  nursed  and 
never  told.  Let  me  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it  now,  and  say,  that,  so  late  as  to  have  out 
grown  childhood,  perhaps  to  have  got  far  on 
towards  manhood,  when  the  roar  of  the  can 
non  has  struck  suddenly  on  my  ear,  I  have 
started  with  a  thrill  of  vague  expectation 
and  tremulous  delight,  and  the  long -un 
spoken  words  have  articulated  themselves 
in  the  mind's  dumb  whisper,  The  Wasp  lias 
come  ! 

—  Yes,  children  believe  plenty  of  queer 
things.  I  suppose  all  of  you  have  had  the 
pocket-book  fever  when  you  were  little  ?  — 
What  do  I  mean  ?  Why,  ripping  up  old 
pocket-books  in  the  firm  belief  that  bank- 
bills  to  an  immense  amount  were  hidden  in 
them.  —  So,  too,  you  must  all  remember 
some  splendid  unfulfilled  promise  of  some 
body  or  other,  which  fed  you  with  hopes 
perhaps  for  years,  and  which  left  a  blank  in 
your  life  which  nothing  has  ever  filled  up. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE,  287 

—  O.  T.  quitted  our  household  carrying 
with  him  the  passionate  regrets  of  the  more 
youthful  members.  He  was  an  ingenious 
youngster ;  wrote  wonderful  copies,  and 
carved  the  two  initials  given  above  with 
great  skill  on  all  available  surfaces.  I 
thought,  by  the  way,  they  were  all  gone ; 
but  the  other  day  I  found  them  on  a  certain 
door  which  I  will  show  you  some  time.  How 
it  surprised  me  to  find  them  so  near  the 
ground !  I  had  thought  the  boy  of  no  triv 
ial  dimensions.  Well,  O.  T.,  when  he  went, 
made  a  solemn  promise  to  two  of  us.  I  was 
to  have  a  ship,  and  the  other  a  mar£m-house 
(last  syllable  pronounced  as  in  the  word 
tin) .  Neither  ever  came ;  but^  oh,  how 
many  and  many  a  time  I  have  stolen  to  the 
corner,  —  the  cars  pass  close  by  it  at  this 
time,  —  and  looked  up  that  long  avenue, 
thinking  that  he  must  be  coming  now,  al 
most  sure,  as  I  turned  to  look  northward, 
that  there  he  would  be,  trudging  toward  me, 
the  ship  in  one  hand  and  the  mar£m-house 
in  the  other ! 

[You  must  not  suppose  that  all  I  am  go 
ing  to  say,  as  well  as  all  I  have  said,  was 
told  to  the  whole  company.  The  young  fel 
low  whom  they  call  John  was  in  the  yard, 
sitting  on  a  barrel  and  smoking  a  cheroot. 


288  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

the  fumes  of  which  came  in,  not  ungrateful, 
through  the  open  window.  The  divinity- 
student  disappeared  in  the  midst  of  our  talk. 
The  poor  relation  in  black  bombazine,  who 
looked  and  moved  as  if  all  her  articulations 
were  elbow-joints,  had  gone  off  to  her  cham 
ber,  after  waiting  with  a  look  of  soul-sub 
duing  decorum  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  until 
one  of  the  male  sort  had  passed  her  and  as 
cended  into  the  upper  regions.  This  is  a 
famous  point  of  etiquette  in  our  boarding- 
house  ;  in  fact,  between  ourselves,  they 
make  such  an  awful  fuss  about  it,  that  I, 
for  one,  had  a  great  deal  rather  have  them 
simple  enough  not  to  think  of  such  matters 
at  all.  Our  landlady's  daughter  said,  the 
other  evening,  that  she  was  going  to  "  re 
tire  "  ;  whereupon  the  young  fellow  called 
John  took  up  a  lamp  and  insisted  on  light 
ing  her  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  Noth 
ing  would  induce  her  to  pass  by  him,  until 
the  schoolmistress,  saying  in  good  plain 
English  that  it  was  her  bed-time,  walked 
straight  by  them  both,  not  seeming  to  trou 
ble  herself  about  either  of  them. 

I  have  been  led  away  from  what  I  meant 
the  portion  included  in  these  brackets  to  in 
form  my  readers  about.  I  say,  then,  most 
of  the  boarders  had  left  the  table  about  the 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.        '   289 

time  when  I  began  telling  some  of  these  se 
crets  of  mine,  —  all  of  them,  in  fact,  but 
the  old  gentleman  opposite  and  the  school 
mistress.  I  understand  why  a  young  wo 
man  should  like  to  hear  these  simple  but 
genuine  experiences  of  early  life,  which  are, 
as  I  have  said,  the  little  brown  seeds  of 
what  may  yet  grow  to  be  poems  with  leaves 
of  azure  and  gold;  but  when  the  old  gen 
tleman  pushed  up  his  chair  nearer  to  me, 
and  slanted  round  his  best  ear,  and  once, 
when  I  was  speaking  of  some  trifling,  ten 
der  reminiscence,  drew  a  long  breath,  with 
such  a  tremor  in  it  that  a  little  more  and  it 
would  have  been  a  sob,  why,  then  I  felt 
there  must  be  something  of  nature  in  them 
which  redeemed  their  seeming  insignificance. 
Tell  me,  man  or  woman  with  whom  I  am 
whispering,  have  you  not  a  small  store  of 
recollections,  such  as  these  I  am  uncovering, 
buried  beneath  the  dead  leaves  of  many 
'summers,  perhaps  under  the  unmelting 
snows  of  fast  returning  winters,  —  a  few 
such  recollections,  which,  if  you  should 
write  them  all  out,  would  be  swept  into 
some  careless  editor's  drawer,  and  might 
cost  a  scanty  half  hour's  lazy  reading  to  his 
subscribers,  —  and  yet,  if  Death  should 
cheat  you  out  of  them,  you  would  not  know 
yourself  in  eternity  ?  ] 


290  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

—  I  made  three  acquaintances  at  a  very 
early  period  of  life,  my  introduction  to  whom 
was  never  forgotten.  The  first  unequivocal 
act  of  wrong  that  has  left  its  trace  in  my 
memory  was  this :  refusing  a  small  favor 
asked  of  me,  —  nothing  more  than  telling 
what  had  happened  at  school  one  morning. 
No  matter  who  asked  it ;  but  there  were  cir 
cumstances  which  saddened  and  awed  me. 
I  had  no  heart  to  speak  ;  —  I  faltered  some 
miserable,  perhaps  petulant  excuse,  stole 
away,  and  the  first  battle  of  life  was  lost. 
What  remorse  followed  I  need  not  tell. 
Then  and  there,  to  the  best  of  my  knowl 
edge,  I  first  consciously  took  Sin  by  the 
hand  and  turned  my  back  on  Duty.  Time 
has  led  me  to  look  upon  my  offence  more 
leniently ;  I  do  not  believe  it  or  any  other 
childish  wrong  is  infinite,  as  some  have  pre 
tended,  but  infinitely  finite.  Yet,  oh  if  I 
had  but  won  that  battle  ! 

The  great  Destroyer,  whose  awful  shadow 
it  was  that  had  silenced  me,  came  near  me, 
—  but  never,  so  as  to  be  distinctly  seen  and 
remembered,  during  my  tender  years.  There 
flits  dimly  before  me  the  image  of  a  little 
girl,  whose  name  even  I  have  forgotten,  a 
schoolmate,  whom  we  missed  one  day,  and 
Were  told  that  she  had  died.  But  what  death 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  291 

was  I  never  had  any  very  distinct  idea,  until 
one  day  I  climbed  the  low  stone  wall  of  the 
old  burial-ground  and  mingled  with  a  group 
that  were  looking  into  a  very  deep,  long, 
narrow  hole,  dug  down  through  the  green 
sod,  clown  through  the  brown  loam,  down 
through  the  yellow  gravel,  and  there  at  the 
bottom  was  an  oblong  red  box,  and  a  still, 
sharp,  white  face  of  a  young  man  seen 
through  an  opening  at  one  end  of  it.  When 
the  lid  was  closed,  and  the  gravel  and  stones 
rattled  down  pell-mell,  and  the  woman  in 
black,  who  was  crying  and  wringing  her 
hands,  went  off  with  the  other  mourners, 
and  left  him,  then  I  felt  that  I  had  seen 
Death,  and  should  never  forget  him. 

One  other  acquaintance  I  made  at  an  ear 
lier  period  of  life  than  the  habit  of  roman 
cers  authorizes.  —  Love,  of  course.  —  She 
was  a  famous  beauty  afterwards.  —  I  am 
satisfied  that  many  children  rehearse  their 
parts  in  the  drama  of  life  before  they  have 
shed  all  their  milk-teeth.  —  I  think  I  won't 
tell  the  story  of  the  golden  blonde.  —  I  sup 
pose  everybody  has  had  his  childish  fancies ; 
but  sometimes  they  are  passionate  impulses, 
which  anticipate  all  the  tremulous  emotions 
belonging  to  a  later  period.  Most  children 
remember  seeing  and  adoring  an  angel  be 
fore  they  were  a  dozen  years  old. 


292  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

[The  old  gentleman  had  left  his  chair  op 
posite  and  taken  a  seat  by  the  schoolmistress 
and  myself,  a  little  way  from  the  table.  — 
It 's  true,  it 's  true,  —  said  the   old  gentle 
man.  —  He  took  hold  of  a  steel  watch-chain, 
which  carried  a  large,  square  gold  key  at 
one  end  and  was  supposed  to  have  some  kind 
of  time-keeper    at    the    other.     With  some 
trouble  he  dragged  up  an  ancient-looking, 
thick,  silver,  bull's-eye   watch.     He  looked 
at  it  for  a  moment,  —  hesitated,  —  touched 
the  inner  corner  of  his  right  eye  with  the 
pulp  of  his  middle  finger,  —  looked   at  the 
face  of  the  watch,  —  said  it  was  getting  into 
the  forenoon,  —  then  opened  the  watch  and 
handed  me  the  loose  outside  case  without  a 
word.  —  The   watch  -  paper  had  been  pink 
once,  and  had  a  faint  tinge  still,  as  if  all  its 
tender  life  had  not  yet  quite  faded  out.    Two 
little  birds,  a  flower,  and,  in  small  school-girl 
letters,  a  date,  —  17  .  .  —  no  matter.  —  Be 
fore  I  was  thirteen  years  old,  —  said  the  old 
gentleman.  —  I  don't  know  what  was  in  that 
young    schoolmistress's    head,   nor  why  she 
should  have  done  it ;  but  she  took  out  the 
watch-paper  and  put  it  softly  to  her  lips,  as 
if  she  were  kissing  the  poor  thing  that  made 
it  so  long  ago.     The  old  gentleman  took  the 
watch-paper  carefully  from  her,  replaced  it, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  293 

turned  away  and  walked  out,  holding  the 
watch  in  his  hand.  I  saw  him  pass  the  win 
dow  a  moment  after  with  that  foolish  white 
hat  on  his  head ;  he  could  n't  have  been 
thinking  what  he  was  about  when  he  put  it 
on.  So  the  schoolmistress  and  I  were  left 
alone.  I  drew  my  chair  a  shade  nearer  to 
her,  and  continued.] 

And  since  I  am  talking  of  early  recollec 
tions,  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't  men 
tion  some  others  that  still  cling  to  me,  — 
not  that  you  will  attach  any  very  particular 
meaning  to  these  same  images  so  full  of  sig 
nificance  to  me,  but  that  you  will  find  some 
thing  parallel  to  them  in  your  own  memory. 
You  remember,  perhaps,  what  I  said  one 
day  about  smells.  There  were  certain  sounds 
also  which  had  a  mysterious  suggestiveness 
to  me,  —  not  so  intense,  perhaps,  as  that 
connected  with  the  other  sense,  but  yet  pe 
culiar,  and  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  first  was  the  creaking  of  the  wood- 
sleds,  bringing  their  loads  of  oak  and  wal 
nut  from  the  country,  as  the  slow-swinging 
oxen  trailed  them  along  over  the  complain 
ing  snow,  in  the  cold,  brown  light  of  early 
morning.  Lying  in  bed  and  listening  to 
their  dreary  music  had  a  pleasure  in  it  akin 
to  the  Lucretian  luxury,  or  that  which  Byron 


294  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

speaks  of  as  to  be  enjoyed  in  looking  on  at 
a  battle  by  one  "  who  hath  no  friend,  no 
brother  there." 

'there  was  another  sound,  in  itself  so 
sweet,  and  so  connected  with  one  of  those 
simple  and  curious  superstitions  of  child 
hood  of  which  I  have  spoken,  that  I  can 
never  cease  to  cherish  a  sad  sort  of  love 
for  it.  —  Let  me  tell  the  superstitious  fancy 
first.  The  Puritan  "  Sabbath,"  as  everybody 
knows,  began  at  "  sundown "  on  Saturday 
evening.  To  such  observance  of  it  I  was 
born  and  bred.  As  the  large,  round  disk  of 
day  declined,  a  stillness,  a  solemnity,  a  some-' 
what  melancholy  hush  came  over  us  all.  It 
was  time  for  work  to  cease,  and  for  play 
things  to  be  put  away.  The  world  of  active 
life  passed  into  the  shadow  of  an  eclipse, 
not  to  emerge  until  the  sun  should  sink 

O 

again  beneath  the  horizon. 

It  was  in  this  stillness  of  the  world  with 
out  and  of  the  soul  within  that  the  pulsating 
lullaby  of  the  evening  crickets  used  to  make 
itself  most  distinctly  heard,  —  so  that  I  well 
remember  I  used  to  think  that  the  purring 
of  these  little  creatures,  which  mingled  with 
the  batrachian  hymns  from  the  neighboring 
swamp,  was  peculiar  to  Saturday  evenings. 
I  don't  know  that  anything  could  give  a 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  295 

clearer  idea  of  the  quieting  and  subduing 
effect  of  the  old  habit  of  observance  of  what 
was  considered  holy  time,  than  this  strange, 
childish  fancy. 

Yes,  and  there  was  still  another  sound 
which  mingled  its  solemn  cadences  with  the 
waking  and  sleeping  dreams  of  my  boyhood. 
It  was  heard  only  at  times,  —  a  deep,  muf 
fled  roar,  which  rose  and  fell,  not  loud,  but 
vast,  —  a  whistling  boy  would  have  drowned 
it  for  his  next  neighbor,  but  it  must  have 
been  heard  over  the  space  of  a  hundred 
square  miles.  I  used  to  wonder  what  this 
might  be.  Could  it  be  the  roar  of  the  thou 
sand  wheels  and  the  ten  thousand  footsteps 
jarring  and  trampling  along  the  stones  of 
the  neighboring  city  ?  That  would  be  con 
tinuous  ;  but  this,  as  I  have  said,  rose  and 
fell  in  regular  rhythm.  I  remember  being 
told,  and  I  suppose  this  to  have  been  the 
true  solution,  that  it  was  the  sound  of  the 
waves,  after  a  high  wind,  breaking  on  the 
long  beaches  many  miles  distant.  I  should 
really  like  to  know  whether  any  observing 
people  living  ten  miles,  more  or  less,  inland 
from  long  beaches,  —  in  such  a  town,  for  in 
stance,  as  Cantabridge,  in  the  eastern  part 
of  the  Territory  of  the  Massachusetts,  — 
have  ever  observed  any  such  sound,  and 


296  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

whether   it   was   rightly   accounted    for   as 
above. 

Mingling  with  these  inarticulate  sounds 
in  the  low  murmur  of  memory,  are  the 
echoes  of  certain  voices  I  have  heard  at 
rare  intervals.  I  grieve  to  say  it,  but  our 
people,  I  think,  have  not  generally  agree 
able  voices.  The  marrowy  organisms,  with 
skins  that  shed  water  like  the  backs  of 
ducks,  with  smooth  surfaces  neatly  padded 
beneath,  and  velvet  linings  to  their  singing- 
pipes,  are  not  so  common  among  us  as  that 
other  pattern  of  humanity  with  angular  out 
lines  and  plane  surfaces,  arid  integuments, 
hair  like  the  fibrous .  covering  of  a  cocoa-nut 
in  gloss  and  suppleness  as  well  as  color,  and 
voices  at  once  thin  and  strenuous ;  —  acid 
ulous  enough  to  produce  effervescence  with 
alkalis,  and  stridulous  enough  to  sing  duets 
with  the  katydids.  I  think  our  conversa 
tional  soprano,  as  sometimes  overheard  in 
the  cars,  arising  from  a  group  of  young  per 
sons,  who  may  have  taken  the  train  at  one 
of  our  great  industrial  centres,  for  instance, 
— •  young  persons  of  the  female  sex,  we  will 
say,  who  have  bustled  in,  full-dressed,  en 
gaged  in  loud  strident  speech,  and  who, 
after  free  discussion,  have  fixed  on  two  or 
more  double  seats,  which  having  secured, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  297 

they  prodeed  to  eat  apples  and  hand  round 
daguerreotypes,  —  I  say  I  think  the  conver 
sational  soprano,  heard  under  these  circum 
stances,  would  not  be  among  the  allurements 
the  old  Enemy  would  put  in  requisition, 
were  he  getting  up  a  new  temptation  of  St. 
Anthony. 

There  are  sweet  voices  among  us,  we  all 
know,  and  voices  not  musical,  it  may  be,  to 
those  who  hear  them  for  the  first  time,  yet 
sweeter  to  us  than  any  we  shall  hear  until 
we  listen  to  some  warbling  angel  in  the 
overture  to  that  eternity  of  blissful  harmo 
nies  we  hope  to  enjoy.  —  But  why  should  I 
tell  lies  ?  If  my  friends  love  me,  it  is  be 
cause  I  try  to  tell  the  truth.  I  never  heard 
but  two  voices  in  my  life  that  frightened  me 
by  their  sweetness. 

-  Frightened  you  ?  —  said  the  schoolmis 
tress.  —  Yes,  frightened  me.  They  made 
me  feel  as  if  there  might  be  constituted  a 
creature  with  such  a  chord  in  her  voice  to 
some  string  in  another's  soul,  that,  if  she  but 
spoke,  he  would  leave  all  and  follow  her, 
though  it  were  into  the  jaws  of  Erebus. 
Our  only  chance  to  keep  our  wits  is,  that 
there  are  so  few  natural  chords  between 
others'  voices  and  this  string  in  our  souls, 
and  that  those  which  at  first  may  have 


298  THE  AUTOCRAT   OF 

jarred  a  little  by  and  by  come  into  harmony 
with  it.  —  But  I  tell  you  this  is  no  fiction. 
You  may  call  the  story  of  Ulysses  and  the 
Sirens  a  fable,  but  what  will  you  say  to 
Mario  and  the  poor  lady  who  followed  him? 

—  Whose  were  those  two  voices  that  Be 
witched  me  so  ?  — •  They  both  belonged  to 
German  women.  One  was  a  chambermaid, 
not  otherwise  fascinating.  The  key  of  my 
room  at  a  certain  great  hotel  was  missing, 
and  this  Teutonic  maiden  was  summoned  to 
give  information  respecting  it.  The  simple 
soul  was  evidently  not  long  from  her  mother 
land,  and  spoke  with  sweet  uncertainty  of 
dialect.  But  to  hear  her  wonder  and  la 
ment  and  suggest  with  soft,  liquid  inflex 
ions,  and  low,  sad  murmurs,  in  tones  as  full 
of  serious  tenderness  for  the  fate  of  the 
lost  key  as  if  it  had  been  a  child  that  had 
strayed  from  its  mother,  was  so  winning, 
that,  had  her  features  and  figure  been  as 
delicious  as  her  accents,  —  if  she  had  looked 
like  the  marble  Clytie,  for  instance,  —  why, 
all  I  can  say  is  — 

[The  schoolmistress  opened  her  eyes  so 
wide,  that  I  stopped  short.] 

I  was  only  going  to  say  that  I  should 
have  drowned  myself.  For  Lake  Erie  was 
close  by,  and  it  is  so  much  better  to  accept 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  299 

asphyxia,  which  takes  only  three  minutes  by 
the  watch,  than  a  mesalliance,  that  lasts 
fifty  years  to  begin  with,  and  then  passes 
along  down  the  line  of  descent  (breaking 
out  in  all  manner  of  boorish  manifestations 
of  feature  and  manner,  which,  if  men  were 
only  as  short-lived  as  horses,  could  be  read 
ily  traced  back  through  the  square-roots 
and  the  cube-roots  of  the  family  stem  on 
which  you  have  hung  the  armorial  bearings 
of  the  De  Champignons  or  the  De  la  Mo- 
rues,  until  one  came  to  beings  that  ate  with 
knives  and  said  "  Haow  ?  "),  that  no  person 
of  right  feeling  could  have  hesitated  for  a 
single  moment. 

The  second  of  the  ravishing  voices  I  have 
heard  was,  as  I  have  said,  that  of  another 
German  woman.  —  I  suppose  I  shall  ruin 
myself  by  saying  that  such  a  voice  couid 
not  have  come  from  any  Americanized  hu 
man  being. 

—  What  was  there  in  it  ?  —  said  the 
schoolmistress,  —  and,  upon  my  word,  her 
tones  were  so  very  musical,  that  I  almost 
wished  I  had  said  three  voices  instead  0? 
two,  and  not  made  the  unpatriotic  remark 
above  reported.  —  Oh,  I  said,  it  had  so 
much  woman  in  it,  —  muliebrity r,  as  well  as 
femineity  ;  —  no  self-assertion,  such  as  free 


300  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

suffrage  introduces  into  every  word  and 
movement ;  large,  vigorous  nature,  running 
back  to  those  huge-limbed  Germans  of  Taci 
tus,  but  subdued  by  the  reverential  training 
and  tuned  by  the  kindly  culture  of  fifty  gen 
erations.  Sharp  business  habits,  a  lean  soil, 
independence,  enterprise,  and  east  winds, 
are  not  the  best  things  for  the  larynx. 
Still,  you  hear  noble  voices  among  us,  —  I 
have  known  families  famous  for  them,  — 
but  ask  the  first  person  you  meet  a  question, 
and  ten  to  one  there  is  a  hard,  sharp,  metal 
lic,  matter-of-business  clink  in  the  accents 
of  the  answer,  that  produces  the  effect  of 
one  of  those  bells  which  small  trades-people 
connect  with  their  shop-doors,  and  which 
spring  upon  your  ear  with  such  vivacity,  as 
you  enter,  that  your  first  impulse  is  to  retire 
at  once  from  the  precincts. 

—  Ah,  but  I  must  not  forget  that  dear 
little  child  I  saw  and  heard  in  a  French 
hospital.  Between  two  and  three  years  old. 
Fell  out  of  her  chair  and  snapped  both 
thigh-bones.  Lying  in  bed,  patient,  gentle. 
Rough,  students  round  her,  some  in  white 
aprons,  looking  fearfully  business-like  ;  but 
the  child  placid,  perfectly  still.  I  spoke  to 
her,  and  the  blessed  little  creature  answered 
me  in  a  voice  of  such  heavenly  sweetness, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  301 

with  that  reedy  thrill  in  it  which  you  have 
heard  in  the  thrush's  even-song,  that  I  seem 
to  hear  it  at  this  moment,  while  I  am  writ 
ing,  so  many,  many  years  afterwards.  — 
C'est  tout  comme  un  serin,  said  the  French 
student  at  my  side. 

These  are  the  voices  which  struck  the 
key-note  of  my  conceptions  as  to  what  the 
sounds  we  are  to  hear  in  heaven  will  be,  if 
we  shall  enter  through  one  of  the  twelve 
gates  of  pearl.  There  must  be  other  things 
besides  aerolites  that  wander  from  their  own 
spheres  to  ours  ;  and  when  we  speak  of  ce 
lestial  sweetness  or  beauty,  we  may  be  nearer 
the  literal  truth  than  we  dj'eam.  If  mankind 
generally  are  the  shipwrecked  survivors  of 
some  pre-Adamitic  cataclysm,  set  adrift  in 
these  little  open  boats  of  humanity  to  make 
one  more  trial  to  reach  the  shore,  —  as  some 
grave  theologians  have  maintained,  —  if,  in 
plain  English,  men  are  the  ghosts  of  dead 
devils  who  have  "  died  into  life  "  (to  borrow 
an  expression  from  Keats),  and  walk  the 
earth  in  a  suit  of  living  rags  which  lasts 
three  or  four  score  summers,  —  why,  there 
must  have  been  a  few  good  spirits  sent  to 
keep  them  company,  and  these  sweet  voices 
I  speak  of  must  belong  to  them. 

—  I  wish  you  could  once  hear  my  sister's 
voice,  —  said  the  schoolmistress. 


302  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

If  it  is  like  yours,  it  must  be  a  pleasant 
one,  —  said  I. 

I  never  thought  mine  was  anything,  — 
said  the  schoolmistress. 

How  should  you  know  ?  —  said  I.  —  Peo 
ple  never  hear  their  own  voices,  —  any  more 
than  they  see  their  own  faces.  There  is  not 
even  a  looking-glass  for  the  voice.  Of  course, 
there  is  something  audible  to  us  when  we 
speak ;  but  that  something  is  not  our  own 
voice  as  it  is  known  to  all  our  acquaintances. 
I  think,  if  an  image  spoke  to  us  in  our  own 
tones,  we  should  not  know  them  in  the  least. 
—  How  pleasant  it  would  be,  if  in  another 
state  of  being  we  could  have  shapes  like  our 
former  selves  for  playthings,  —  we  standing 
outside  or  inside  of  them,  as  we  liked,  and 
they  being  to  us  just  what  we  used  to  be  to* 
others  ! 

—  I  wonder  if  there  will  be  nothing  like 
what  we  call  "  play,"  after  our  earthly  toys 
are  broken,  —  said  the  schoolmistress. 

Hush,  —  said  I,  —  what  will  the  divinity- 
student  say? 

[I  thought  she  was  hit,  that  time  ;  —  but 
the  shot  must  have  gone  over  her,  or  on  one 
side  of  her  ;  she  did  not  flinch.] 

Oh,  —  said  the  schoolmistress,  —  he  must 
look  out  for  my  sister's  heresies  ;  I  am  afraid 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  303 

he  will  be  too  busy  with  them  to  take  care 
of  mine. 

Do  you  mean  to  say,  —  said  I,  —  that  it  is 
your  sister  whom  that  student  — 

[The  young  fellow  commonly  known  as 
John,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  barrel, 
smoking,  jumped  off  just  then,  kicked  over 
the  barrel,  gave  it  a  push  with  his  foot  that 
set  it  rolling,  and  stuck  his  saucy-looking 
face  in  at  the  window  so  as  to  cut  my  ques 
tion  off  in  the  middle ;  and  the  schoolmis 
tress  leaving  the  room  a  few  minutes  after 
wards,  I  did  not  have  a  chance  to  finish  it. 

The  young  fellow  came  in  and  sat  down 
in  a  chair,  putting  his  heels  on  the  top  of 
another. 

Pooty  girl,  —  said  he. 

A  fine  young  lady,  —  I  replied. 

Keeps  a  "fust -rate  school,  according  to 
accounts,  — '  said  he,  —  teaches  all  sorts  of 
things,  —  Latin  and  Italian  and  music.  Folks 
rich  once,  —  smashed  up.  She  went  right 
ahead  as  smart  as  if  she  'd  been  born  to 
work.  That 's  the  kind  o'  girl  I  go  for.  I  'd 
marry  her,  only  two  or  three  other  girls 
would  drown  themselves,  if  I  did. 

I  think  the  above  is  the  longest  speech  of 
this  young  fellow's  which  I  have  put  on  rec 
ord.  I  do  not  like  to  change  his  peculiar 


304  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

expressions,  for  this  is  one  of  those  cases  in 
which  the  style  is  the  man,  as  M.  de  Buffon 
says.  The  fact  is,  the  young  fellow  is  a 
good-hearted  creature  enough,  only  too  fond 
of  his  jokes,  —  and  if  it  were  not  for  those 
heat-lightning  winks  on  one  side  of  his  face, 
I  should  not  mind  his  fun  much.] 

[Some  days  after  this,  when  the  company 
were  together  again,  I  talked  a  little.] 

—  I  don't  think  I  have  a  genuine  hatred 
for  anybody.  I  am  well  aware  that  I  differ 
herein  from  the  sturdy  English  moralist  and 
the  stout  American  tragedian.  I  don't  deny 
that  I  hate  the  sight  of  certain  people ;  but 
the  qualities  which  make  me  tend  to  hate 
the  man  himself  are  such  as  I  am  so  much 
disposed  to  pity,  that,  except  under  immedi 
ate  aggravation,  I  feel  kindly  enough  to  the 
worst  of  them.  It  is  such  a  sad  thing  to  be 
born  a  sneaking  fellow,  so  much  worse  than 
to  inherit  a  hump-back  or  a  couple  of  club- 
feet,  that  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  we  ought  to 
love  the  crippled  souls,  if  I  may  use  this  ex 
pression,  with  a  certain  tenderness  which  we 
need  not  waste  on  noble  natures.  One  who 
is  born  with  such  congenital  incapacity  that 
nothing  can  make  a  gentleman  of  him  is  en 
titled,  not  to  our  wrath,  but  to  our  profound- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  305 

est  sympathy.  But  as  we  cannot  help  hat 
ing  the  sight  of  these  people,  just  as  we  do 
that  of  physical  deformities,  we  gradually 
eliminate  them  from  our  society,  —  we  love 
them,  but  open  the  window  and  let  them  go. 
By  the  time  decent  people  reach  middle  age 
they  have  weeded  their  circle  pretty  well  of 
these  unfortunates,  unless  they  have  a  taste 
for  such  animals ;  in  which  case,  no  matter 
what  their  position  may  be,  there  is  some 
thing,  you  may  be  sure,  in  their  natures 
akin  to  that  of  their  wretched  parasites. 

—  The  divinity-student  wished  to  know 
what  I  thought  of  affinities,  as  well  as  of  an 
tipathies  ;  did  I  believe  in  love  at  first  sight  ? 

Sir,  —  said  I,  —  all  men  love  all  women. 
That  is  the  prima-facie  aspect  of  the  case. 
The  Court  of  Nature  assumes  the  law  to  be, 
that  all  men  do  so  ;  and  the  individual  man 
is  bound  to  show  cause  why  he  does  not  love 
any  particular  woman.  A  man,  says  one 
of  my  old  black-letter  law-books,  may  show 
divers  good  reasons,  as  thus :  He  hath  not 
seen  the  person  named  in  the  indictment ; 
she  is  of  tender  age,  or  the  reverse  of  that ; 
she  hath  certain  personal  disqualifications, 
—  as,  for  instance,  she  is  a  blackamoor,  or 
hath  an  ill-favored  countenance ;  or,  his  ca 
pacity  of  loving  being  limited,  his  affections 


306X  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

are  engrossed  by  a  previous  comer ;  and 
so  of  other  conditions.  Not  the  less  is  it 
true  that  he  is  bound  by  duty  and  inclined 
by  nature  to  love  each  and  every  woman. 
Therefore  it  is  that  each  woman  virtually 
summons  every  man  to  show  cause  why  he 
doth  not  love  her.  This  is  not  by  written 
document,  or  direct  speech,  for  the  most 
part,  but  by  certain  signs  of  silk,  gold,  and 
other  materials,  which  say  to  all  men,  — 
Look  on  me  and  love,  as  in  duty  bound. 
Then  the  man  pleadeth  his  special  inca 
pacity,  whatsoever  that  may  be,  —  as,  for 
instance,  impecuniosity,  or  that  he  hath  one 
or  many  wives  in  his  household,  or  that 
he  is  of  mean  figure,  or  small  capacity  ;  of 
which  reasons  it  may  be  noted,  that  the  first 
is,  according  to  late  decisions,  of  chiefest 
authority.  —  So  far  the  old  law-book.  But 
there  is  a  note  from  an  older  authority,  say 
ing  that  every  woman  doth  also  love  each 
and  every  man,  except  there  be  some  good 
reason  to  the  contrary ;  and  a  very  observing 
friend  of  mine,  a  young  unmarried  clergy 
man,  tells  me,  that,  so  far  as  his  experience 
goes,  he  has  reason  to  think  the  ancient  au 
thor  had  fact  to  justify  his  statement. 

I  '11  tell  you  how  it  is  with  the  pictures  of 
women  we  fall  in  love  with  at  first  sight. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  307 

—  We  a'  n't  talking  about  pictures,  —  said 
the   landlady's    daughter,  —  we  're   talking 
about  women. 

I  understood  that  we  were  speaking  of 
love  at  sight,  —  I  remarked,  mildly.  —  Now, 
as  all  a  man  knows  about  a  woman  whom 
he  looks  at  is  just  what  a  picture  as  big  as 
a  copper,  or  a  "  nickel,"  rather,  at  the  bot 
tom  of  his  eye  can  teach  him,  I  think  I  am 
right  in  saying  we  are  talking  about  the 
pictures  of  women.  —  Well,  now,  the  reason 
why  a  man  is  not  desperately  in  love  with 
ten  thousand  women  at  once  is  just  that 
which  prevents  all  our  portraits  being  dis 
tinctly  seen  upon  that  wall.  They  all  are 
painted  there  by  reflection  from  our  faces, 
but  because  all  of  them  are  painted  on  each 
spot,  and  each  on  the  same  surface,  and 
many  other  objects  at  the  same  time,  no  one 
is  seen  as  a  picture.  But  darken  a  chamber 
and  let  a  single  pencil  of  rays  in  through  a 
key-hole,  then  you  have  a  picture  on  the 
wall.  We  never  fall  in  love  with  a  woman 
in  distinction  from  women,  until  we  can  get 
an  image  of  her  through  a  pin-hole  ;  and 
then  we  can  see  nothing  else,  and  nobody 
but  ourselves  can  see  the  image  in  our  men 
tal  camera-obscura. 

—  My  friend,  die  Poet,  tells  me  he  has  to 


308  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

leave  town  whenever  the  anniversaries  come 
round. 

What's  the  difficulty ?  —  Why,  they  aU 
want  him  to  get  up  and  make  speeches,  or 
songs,  or  toasts ;  which  is  just  the  very 
thing  he  does  n't  want  to  do.  He  is  an  old 
story,  he  says,  and  hates  to  show  on  these 
occasions.  But  they  tease  him,  and  coax 
him,  and  can't  do  without  him,  and  feel  all 
over  his  poor  weak  head  until  they  get  their 
fingers  on  the  fontandle  (the  Professor  will 
tell  you  what  this  means,  —  he  says  the  one 
at  the  top  of  the  head  always  remains  open 
in  poets),  until,  by  gentle  pressure  on  that 
soft  pulsating  spot,  they  stupefy  him  to  the 
point  of  acquiescence. 

There  are  times,  though,  he  says,  when  it 
is  a  pleasure,  before  going  to  some  agree 
able  meeting,  to  rush  out  into  one's  garden 
and  clutch  up  a  handful  of  what  grows 
there,  —  weeds  and  violets  together,  —  not 
cutting  them  off,  but  pulling  them  up  by 
the  roots  with  the  brown  earth  they  grow  in 
sticking  to  them.  That 's  his  idea  of  a  post 
prandial  performance.  Look  here,  now. 
These  verses  I  am  going  to  read  you,  he 
tells  me,  were  pulled  up  by  the  roots  just  in 
that  way,  the  other  day.  —  Beautiful  enter 
tainment,  —  names  there  on  the  plates  that 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  309 

flow  from  all  English-speaking  tongues  as  f  a- 
miliarly  as  and  or  the  ;  entertainers  known 
wherever  good  poetry  and  fair  title-pages 
are  held  in  esteem ;  guest  a  kind-hearted, 
modest,  genial,  hopeful  poet,  who  sings  to 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen,  the  British 
people,  the  songs  of  good  cheer  which  the 
better  days  to  come,  as  all  honest  souls  trust 
and  believe,  will  turn  into  the  prose  of  com 
mon  life.  My  friend,  the  Poet,  says  you 
must  not  read  such  a  string  of  verses  too 
literally.  If  he  trimmed  it  nicely  below, 
you  would  n't  see  the  roots,  he  says,  and  he 
likes  to  keep  them,  and  a  little  of  the  soil 
clinging  to  them. 

This  is  the  farewell  my  friend,  the  Poet, 
read  to  his  and  our  friend,  the  Poet :  — 

A  GOOD  TIME  JGOING! 

Brave  singer  of  the  coming  time, 

Sweet  minstrel  of  the  joyous  present, 
Crowned  with  the  noblest  wreath  of  rhyme, 

The  holly-leaf  of  Ayrshire's  peasant, 
Good-bye  !  Good-bye  !  —  Our  hearts  and  hands, 

Our  lips  in  honest  Saxon  phrases, 
Cry,  God  be  with  him,  till  he  stands 

His  feet  among  the  English  daisies ! 

'T  is  here  we  part ;  —  for  other  eyes 
The  busy  deck,  the  fluttering  streamer, 

The  dripping  arms  that  plunge  and  rise, 
The  waves  in  foam,  the  ship  in  tremor, 


310  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

The  kerchiefs  waving-  from  the  pier, 
The  cloudy  pillar  gliding-  o'er  him, 

The  deep  blue  desert,  lone  and  drear, 

With  heaven  above  and  home  before  him  ! 

His  home  !  —  the  Western  giant  smiles, 

And  twirls  the  spotty  globe  to  find  it,  — 
This  little  speck  the  British  Isles  ? 

'T  is  but  a  freckle,  —  never  mind  it !  — 
He  laughs,  and  all  his  prairies  roll, 

Each  gurgling  cataract  roars  and  chuckles, 
And  ridges  stretched  from  pole  to  pole 

Heave  till  they  crack  their  iron  knuckles. 

But  Memory  blushes  at  the  sneer, 

And  Honor  turns  with  frown  defiant, 
And  Freedom,  leaning  on  her  spear, 

Laughs  louder  than  the  laughing  giant :  — >  - 
"An  islet  is  a  world,"  she  said, 

' '  When  glory  with  its  dust  has  blended, 
And  Britain  keeps  her  noble  dead 

Till  earth  and  seas  and  skies  are  rended !  ' J 

Beneath  each  swinging  forest-bough 

Some  arm  as  stout  in  death  reposes,  — 
From  wave-washed  foot  to  heaven-kissed  brow 

Her  valor's  life-blood  runs  in  rosesi; 
Nay,  let  our  brothers  of  the  West 

Write  smiling  in  their  florid  pages, 
One-half  her  soil  has  walked  the  rest 

In  poets,  heroes,  martyrs,  sages ! 

Hugged  in  the  clinging  billow's  clasp, 

From  sea-weed  fringe  to  mountain  heather> 

The  British  oak  with  rooted  grasp 

Her  slender  handful  holds  together,  — 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  311 

With  cliffs  of  white  and  bowers  of  green, 

And  Ocean  narrowing  to  caress  her, 
And  hills  and  threaded  streams  between,  — 

Our  little  mother  isle,  God  bless  her  ! 

In  earth's  broad  temple  where  we  stand, 

Fanned  by  the  eastern  gales  that  brought  us, 
We  ho~<^  the  missal  in  our  hand, 

Bright  with  the  lines  our  Mother  taught  us  : 
Where'er  its  blazoned  page  betrays 

The  glistening  links  of  gilded  fetters, 
Behold,  the  half -turned  leaf  displays 

Her  rubric  stained  in  crimson  letters  ! 

Enough  !     To  speed  a  parting  friend 

'T  is  vain  alike  to  speak  and  listen ;  — 
Yet  stay,  —  these  feeble  accents  blend 

With  rays  of  light  from  eyes  that  glisten. 
Good-bye  !  once  more,  —  and  kindly  tell 

In  words  of  peace  the  young  world's  story,  — 
And  say,,  besides,  —  we  love  too  well 

Our  mothers'  soil,  our  fathers'  glory ! 

When  my  friend,  the  Professor,  found 
that  my  friend,  the  Poet,  had  been  coming 
out  in  this  full-blown  style,  he  got  a  little 
excited,  as  you  may  have  seen  a  canary, 
sometimes,  when  another  strikes  up.  The 
Professor  says  he  knows  he  can  lecture,  ai\J. 
thinks  he  can  write  verses.  At  any  rate,  he 
has  often  tried,  and  now  he  was  determined 
to  try  again.  So  when  some  professional 
friends  of  his  called  him  up,  one  day,  after 
a  feast  of  reason  and  a  regular  "  freshet  '* 


312  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

of  soul  which  had  lasted  two  or  three  hours, 
he  read  them  these  verses.  He  introduced 
them  with  a  few  remarks,  he  told  me,  of 
which  the  only  one  he  remembered  was  this : 
that  he  had  rather  write  a  single  line  which 
one  among  them  should  think  worth  remem 
bering  than  set  them  all  laughing  with  a 
string  of  epigrams.  It  was  all  right,  I  don't 
doubt ;  at  any  rate,  that  was  his  fancy  then, 
and  perhaps  another  time  he  may  be  obsti 
nately  hilarious ;  however,  it  may  be  that 
he  is  growing  graver,  for  time  is  a  fact  so 
long  as  clocks  and  watches  continue  to  go, 
and  a  cat  can't  be  a  kitten  always,  as  the 
old  gentleman  opposite  said  the  other  day. 

You  must  listen  to  this  seriously,  for  I 
think  the  Professor  was  very  much  in  ear 
nest  when  he  wrote  it. 

THE  TWO  ARMIES.1 

As  Life's  unending  column  pours, 
Two  marshalled  hosts  are  seen,  — 

Two"  armies  on  the  trampled  shores 
That  Death  flows  black  between. 

One  marches  to  the  drum-beat's  roll, 
The  wide-mouthed  clarion's  bray, 

And  bears  upon  a^crimson  scroll, 
"  Our  glory  is  to  slay." 

1  This  poem  was  written  for  and  read  at  a  meeting  of 
the  Massachusetts  Medical  Society. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  313 

One  moves  in  silence  by  the  stream, 

With  sad,  yet  watchful  eyes, 
Calm  as  the  patient  planet's  gleam 

That  walks  the  clouded  skies. 

Along  its  front  no  sabres  shine, 

No  blood-red  pennons  wave  ; 
Its  banner  bears  the  single  line, 

"  Our  duty  is  to  save." 

For  those  no  death-bed's  lingering  shade ; 

At  Honor's  trumpet-call, 
With  knitted  brow  and  lifted  blade 

In  Glory's  arms  they  fall. 

For  these  no  clashing  falchions  bright, 

No  stirring  battle-cry ; 
The  bloodless  stabber  calls  by  night,  — 

Each  answers,  "Here  am  I !  " 

For  those  the  sculptor's  laurelled  bust, 

The  builder's  marble  piles, 
The  anthems  pealing  o'er  their  dust 

Through  long  cathedral  aisles. 

For  these  the  blossom-sprinkled  turf 

That  floods  the  lonely  graves, 
When  Spring  rolls  in  her  sea-green  surf 

In  flowery-foaming  waves. 

Two  paths  lead  upward  from  below, 

And  angels  wait  above, 
Who  count  each  burning  life-drop's  flow, 

Each  falling  tear  of  love. 

Though  from  the  Hero's  bleeding  breast 
Her  pulses  Freedom  drew, 


314  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Though  the  white  lilies  in  her  crest 
Sprang-  from  that  scarlet  dew,  — 

While  Valor's  haughty  champions  wait 
Till  all  their  scars  are  shown, 

Love  walks  unchallenged  through  the  gate, 
To  sit  beside  the  Throne ! 


X. 

[THE  schoolmistress  came  down  with  a 
rose  in  her  hair,  —  a  fresh  June  rose.  She 
has  been  walking  early ;  she  has  brought 
back  two  others,  —  one  on  each  cheek. 

I  told  her  so,  in  some  such  pretty  phrase 
as  I  could  muster  for  the  occasion.  Those 
two  blush-roses  I  just  spoke  of  turned  into 
a  couple  of  damasks,  I  suppose  all  this 
went  through  my  mind,  for  this  was  what  I 
went  on  to  say :  — ] 

I  love  the  damask  rose  best  of  all.  The 
flowers  our  mothers  and  sisters  used  to  love 
and  cherish,  those  which  grow  beneath  our 
eaves  and  by  our  doorstep,  are  the  ones 
we  always  love  best.  If  the  Houyhnhnms 
should  ever  catch  me,  and,  finding  me  par 
ticularly  vicious  and  unmanageable,  send  a 
man-tamer  to  Rareyfy  me,  I  '11  tell  you  what 
drugs  he  would  have  to  take  and  how  he 
would  have  to  use  them.  Imagine  yourself 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  315 

reading  a  number  of  the  Houyhnhnm  Ga 
zette,  giving  an  account  of  such  an  experi 
ment. 

"  MAN-TAMING   EXTRAORDINARY. 

"  The  soft-hoofed  semi-quadruped  recently 
captured  was  subjected  to  the  art  of  our  dis 
tinguished  man-tamer  in  presence  of  a  nu 
merous  assembly.  The  animal  was  led  in 
by  two  stout  ponies,  closely  confined  by 
straps  to  prevent  his  sudden  and  dangerous 
tricks  of  shoulder-hitting  and  foot-striking. 
His  countenance  expressed  the  utmost  de 
gree  of  ferocity  and  cunning. 

"  The  operator  took  a  handful  of  budding 
lilac-leaves,  and  crushing  them  slightly  be 
tween  his  hoofs,  so  as  to  bring  out  their  pe 
culiar  fragrance,  fastened  them  to  the  end 
of  a  long  pole  and  held  them  towards  the 
creature.  Its  expression  changed  in  an  in 
stant,  —  it  drew  in  their  fragrance  eagerly, 
and  attempted  to  seize  them  with  its  soft 
split  hoofs.  Having  thus  quieted  his  suspi 
cious  subject,  the  operator  proceeded  to  tie 
a  blue  hyacinth  to  the  end  of  the  pole  and 
held  it  out  towards  the  wild  animal.  The 
effect  was  magical.  Its  eyes  filled  as  if  with 
raindrops,  and  its  lips  trembled  as  it  pressed 
them  to  the  flower.  After  this  it  was  per- 


316  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

fectly  quiet,  and  brought  a  measure  of  corn 
to  the  man-tamer,  without  showing  the  least 
disposition  to  strike  with  the  feet  or  hit 
from  the  shoulder." 

That  will  do  for  the  Houyhnhnm  Gazette. 

—  Do  you  ever  wonder  why  poets  talk  so 
much  about  flowers  ?     Did  you  ever  hear  of 
a  poet  who  did  not  talk  about  them  ?    Don't 
you  think  a  poem,  which,  for  the  sake  of  be 
ing  original,  should  leave  them  out,  would 
be  like  those  verses  where  the  letter  a  or  e 
or  some  other  is  omitted  ?     No,  —  they  will 
bloom  over  and  over  again  in  poems  as  in 
the  summer  fields,  to  the  end  of  time,  al 
ways  old  and  always  new.     Why  should  we 
be  more  shy  of  repeating  ourselves  than  the 
spring  be  tired  of  blossoms  or  the  night  of 
stars  ?     Look  at  Nature.     She  never  wea 
ries  of  saying  over  her  floral   pater-noster. 
In  the  crevices  of  Cyclopean  walls,  —  in  the 
dust    where    men    lie,    dust    also,  —  on    the 
mounds  that  bury  huge  cities,  the  wreck  of 
Nineveh  and  the   Babel  -  heap,  —  still  that 
same    sweet   prayer  and  benediction.     The 
Amen !  of  Nature  is  always  a  flower. 

Are  you  tired  of  my  trivial  personalities, 

—  those  splashes  and  streaks  of  sentiment, 
sometimes  perhaps  of  sentimentality,  which 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  817 

you  may  see  when  I  show  you  my  heart's 
corolla  as  if  it  were  a  tulip  ?  Pray,  do  not 
give  yourself  the  trouble  to  fancy  me  an 
idiot  whose  conceit  it  is  to  treat  himself  as 
an  exceptional  being.  It  is  because  you  are 
just  like  me  that  I  talk  and  know  that  you 
will  listen.  We  are  all  splashed  and  streaked 
with  sentiments,  —  not  with  precisely  the 
same  tints,  or  in  exactly  the  same  patterns, 
but  by  the  same  hand  and  from  the  same 
palette. 

I  don't  believe  any  of  you  happen  to  have 
just  the  same  passion  for  the  blue  hyacinth 
which  I  have,  —  very  certainly  not  for  the 
crushed  lilac-leaf-buds  ;  many  of  you  do  not 
know  how  sweet  they  are.  You  love  the 
smell  of  the  sweet-fern  and  the  bay-berry- 
leaves,  I  don't  doubt ;  but  I  hardly  think 
that  the  last  bewitches  you  with  young  mem 
ories  as  it  does  me.  For  the  same  reason  I 
come  back  to  damask  roses,  after  having 
raised  a  good  many  of  the  rarer  varieties.  I 
like  to  go  to  operas  and  concerts,  but  there 
are  queer  little  old  homely  sounds  that  are 
better  than  music  to  me.  However,  I  sup 
pose  it 's  foolish  to  tell  such  things. 

-  It  is  pleasant  to  be  foolish  at  the  right 
time,  —  said  the  divinity-student ;  —  saying 
it,  however,  in  one  of  the  dead  languages, 


318  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

which  I  think  are  unpopular  for  summer- 
reading,  and  therefore  do  not  bear  quota 
tion  as  such. 

Well,  now,  —  said  I,  —  suppose  a  good, 
clean,  wholesome-looking  countryman's  cart 
stops  opposite  my  door.  —  Do  I  want  any 
huckleberries? —  If  I  do  not,  there  are  those 
that  do.  Thereupon  my  soft- voiced  hand 
maid  bears  out  a  large  tin  pan,  and  then  the 
wholesome  countryman,  heaping  the  peck- 
measure,  spreads  his  broad  hands  around  its 
lower  arc  to  confine  the  wild  and  frisky  ber 
ries,  and  so  they  run  nimbly  along  the  nar 
rowing  channel  until  they  tumble  rustling 
down  in  a  black  cascade  and  tinkle  on  the 
resounding  metal  beneath.  —  I  won't  say 
that  this  rushing  huckleberry  hail-storm  has 
not  more  music  for  me  than  the  "  Anvil 
Chorus." 

—  I  wonder  how  my  great  trees  are  com 
ing  on  this  summer. 

—  Where   are  your  great  trees,   Sir  ?  — • 
said  the  divinity-student. 

Oh,  all  round  about  New  England.  I  call 
all  trees  mine  that  I  have  put  my  wedding- 
ring  on,  and  I  have  as  many  tree-wives  as 
Brigham  Young  has  human  ones. 

—  One  set 's  as  green  as  the  other,  —  ex 
claimed  a  boarder,  who  has  never  been  iden 
tified. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  319 

They  're  all  Bloomers,  —  said  the  young 
fellow  called  John. 

[I  should  have  rebuked  this  trifling  with 
language,  if  our  landlady's  daughter  had  not 
asked  me  just  then  what  I  meant  by  putting 
my  wedding-ring  on  a  tree.] 

Why,  measuring  it  with  my  thirty-foot 
tape,  my  dear,  —  said  I,  —  I  have  worn  a 
tape  almost  out  on  the  rough  barks  of  our 
old  New  England  elms  and  other  big  trees. 
—  Don't  you  want  to  hear  me  talk  trees  a 
little  now?  That  is  one  of  my  specialties. 

[So  they  all  agreed  that  they  should  like 
to  hear  me  talk  about  trees.] 

I  want  you  to  understand,  in  the  first 
place,  that  I  have  a  most  intense,  passionate 
fondness  for  trees  in  general,  and  have  had 
several  romantic  attachments  to  certain  trees 
in  particular.  Now,  if  you  expect  me  to 
hold  forth  in  a  "  scientific  "  way  about  my 
tree-loves,  —  to  talk,  for  instance,  of  the 
Ulrnus  Americana,  and  describe  the  ciliated 
edges  of  its  samara,  ancj  all  that,  —  you  are 
an  anserine  individual,  and  I  must  refer  you 
to  a  dull  friend  who  will  discourse  to  you  of 
such  matters.  What  should  you  think  of 
a  lover  who  should  describe  the  idol  of  his 
heart  in  the  language  of  science,  thus  : 
Class.  Mammalia  ;  Order,  Primates  ;  Genus, 


320  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Homo  ;  Species,  Europeus  ;  Variety,  Brown  ; 
Individual,  Ann  Eliza  ;  Dental  Formula, 

2  —  2     1  —  1     2  —  2     3  —  3 
*        ~  c  m  and  S°  °n? 


No,  my  friends,  I  shall  speak  of  trees  as 
we  see  them,  love  them,  adore  them  in  the 
fields,  where  they  are  alive,  holding  their 
green  sun-shades  over  our  heads,  talking  to 
us  with  their  hundred  thousand  whispering 
tongues,  looking  down  on  us  with  that  sweet 
meekness  which  belongs  to  huge,  but  limited 
organisms,  —  which  one  sees  in  the  brown 
eyes  of  oxen,  but  most  in  the  patient  pos 
ture,  the  outstretched  .arms,  and  the  heavy- 
drooping  robes  of  these  vast  beings  endowed 
with  life,  but  not  with  soul,  —  which  out 
grow  us  and  outlive  us,  but  stand  helpless, 
—  poor  things  !  —  while  Nature  dresses  and 
undresses  them,  like  so  many  full-sized,  but 
under-witted  children. 

Did  you  ever  read  old  Daddy  Gilpin? 
Slowest  of  men,  even  of  English  men  ;  yet 
delicious  in  his  slowness,  as  is  the  light  of  a 
sleepy  eye  in  woman.  I  always  supposed 
"  Dr.  Syntax  "  was  written  to  make  fun  of 
him.  I  have  a  whole  set  of  his  works,  and 
am  very  proud  of  it,  with  its  gray  paper, 
and  open  type,  and  long  ff,  and  orange-juice 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  321 

landscapes.  Pere  Gilpin  had  the  kind  of 
science  I  like  in  the  study  of  Nature,  —  a 
little  less  observation  than  White  of  Sel- 
borne,  but  a  little  more  poetry.  —  Just  think 
of  applying  the  Limisean  system  to  an  elm ! 
Who  cares  how  many  stamens  or  pistils  that 
little  brown  flower,  which  comes  out  before 
the  leaf,  may  have  to  classify  it  by  ?  What 
we  want  is  the  meaning,  the  character,  the 
expression  of  a  tree,  as  a  kind  and  as  an  in 
dividual. 

There  is  a  mother-idea  in  each  particular 
kind  of  tree,  which,  if  well  marked,  is  prob 
ably  embodied  in  the  poetry  of  every  lan 
guage.  Take  the  oak,  for  instance,  and  we 
find  it  always  standing  as  a  type  of  strength 
and  endurance.  I  wonder  if  you  ever  thought 
of  the  single  mark  of  supremacy  which  dis 
tinguishes  this  tree  from  those  around  it  ? 
The  others  shirk  the  work  of  resisting  grav 
ity  ;  the  oak  defies  it.  It  chooses  the  hori 
zontal  direction  for  its  limbs  so  that  their 
whole  weight  may  tell,  —  and  then  stretches 
them  out  fifty  or  sixty  feet,  so  that  the  strain 
may  be  mighty  enough  to  be  worth  resisting. 
You  will  find,  that,  in  passing  from  the  ex 
treme  downward  droop  of  the  branches  of 
the  weeping-willow  to  the  extreme  upward 
inclination  of  those  of  the  poplar,  they  sweep 


322  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

nearly  half  a  circle.  At  90°  the  oak  stops 
short ;  to  slant  upward  another  degree  would 
mark  infirmity  of  purpose  ;  to  bend  down 
wards,  weakness  of  organization.  The  Amer 
ican  elm  betrays  something  of  both ;  yet 
sometimes,  as  we  shall  see,  puts  on  a  certain 
resemblance  to  its  sturdier  neighbor. 

It  won't  do  to  be  exclusive  in  our  taste 
about  trees.  There  is  hardly  one  of  them 
which  has  not  peculiar  beauties  in  some  fit 
ting  place  for  it.  I  remember  a  tall  poplar 
of  monumental  proportions  and  aspect,  a 
vast  pillar  of  glossy  green,  placed  on  the 
summit  of  a  lofty  hill,  and  a  beacon  to  all 
the  country  round.  A  native  of  that  region 
saw  fit  to  build  his  house  very  near  it,  and, 
having  a  fancy  that  it  might  blow  down  some 
time  or  other,  and  exterminate  himself  and 
any  incidental  relatives  who  might  be  "  stop 
ping  "  or  "  tarrying  "  with  him,  —  also  la 
boring  under  the  delusion  that  human  life  is 
under  all  circumstances  to  be  preferred  to 
vegetable  existence,  —  had  the  great  poplar 
cut  down.  It  is  so  easy  to  say,  "It  is  only 
a  poplar,"  and  so  much  harder  to  replace 
its  living  cone  than  to  build  a  granite  obe 
lisk ! 

I  must  tell  you  about  some  of  my  troe- 
wives.  I  was  at  one  period  of  my  life  much 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  323 

devoted  to  the  young  lady  -  population  of 
Ehode  Island,  a  small  but  delightful  State 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Pawtucket.  The 
number  of  inhabitants  being  not  very  large, 
I  had  leisure,  during  my  visits  to  the  Provi 
dence  Plantations,  to  inspect  the  face  of  the 
country  in  the  intervals  of  more  fascinating 
studies  of  physiognomy.  I  heard  some  talk 
of  a  great  elm  a  short  distance  from  the 
locality  just  mentioned.  "  Let  us  see  the 
great  elm,"  —  I  said,  and  proceeded  to  find 
it,  —  knowing  that  it  was  on  a  certain  farm 
in  a  place  called  Johnston,  if  I  remember 
rightly.  I  shall  never  forget  my  ride  and 
my  introduction  to  the  great  Johnston  elm. 

I  always  tremble  for  a  celebrated  tree 
when  I  approach  it  for  the  first  time.  Pro 
vincialism  has  no  scale  of  excellence  in  man 
or  vegetable  ;  it  never  knows  a  first-rate  ar 
ticle  of  either  kind  when  it  has  it,  and  is 
constantly  taking  second  and  third  rate  ones 
for  Nature's  best.  I  have  often  fancied  the 
tree  was  afraid  of  me,  and  that  a  sort  of 
shiver  came  over  it  as  over  a  betrothed 
maiden  when  she  first  stands  before  the  un 
known  to  whom  she  has  been  plighted.  Be 
fore  the  measuring  tape  the  proudest  tree  of 
them  all  quails  and  shrinks  into  itself.  All 
those  stories  of  four  or  five  men  stretching 


324  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

their  arms  around  it  and  not  touching  each 
other's  fingers,  of  one's  pacing  the  shadow 
at  noon  and  making  it  so  many  hundred  feet, 
die  upon  its  leafy  lips  in  the  presence  of  the 
awful  ribbon  which  has  strangled  so  many 
false  pretensions. 

As  I  rode  along  the  pleasant  way,  watch 
ing  eagerly  for  the  object  of  my  journey, 
the  rounded  tops  of  the  elms  rose  from  time 
to  time  at  the  road-side.  Wherever  one 
looked  taller  and  fuller  than  the  rest,  I 
asked  myself,  —  "  Is  this  it  ?  "  But  as  I 
drew  nearer,  they  grew  smaller,  —  or  it 
proved,  perhaps,  that  two  standing  in  a  line 
had  looked  like  one,  and  so  deceived  me. 
At  last,  all  at  once,  when  I  was  not  think 
ing  of  it,  —  I  declare  to  you  it  makes  my 
flesh  creep  when  I  think  of  it  now,  —  all  at 
once  I  saw  a  great  green  cloud  swelling  in 
the  horizon,  so  vast,  so  symmetrical,  of  such 
Olympian  majesty  and  imperial  supremacy 
among  the  lesser  forest  -  growths,  that  my 
heart  stopped  short,  then  jumped  at  my  ribs 
as  a  hunter  springs  at  a  five-barred  gate,  and 
I  felt  all  through  me,  without  need  of  utter 
ing  the  words,  —  "  This  is  it !  " 

You  will  find  this  tree  described,  with 
many  others,  in  the  excellent  Report  upon 
the  Trees  and  Shrubs  of  Massachusetts.  The 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  325 

author  has  given  my  friend  the  Professor 
credit  for  some  of  his  measurements,  but 
measured  this  tree  himself,  carefully.  It  is 
a  grand  elm  for  size  of  trunk,  spread  of 
limbs,  and  muscular  development,  —  one  of 
the  first,  perhaps  the  first,  of  the  first  class 
of  New  England  elms. 

The  largest  actual  girth  I  have  ever  found 
at  five  feet  from  the  ground  is  in  the  great 
elm  lying  a  stone's  throw  or  two  north  of 
the  main  road  (if  my  points  of  compass  are 
right)  in  Springfield.  But  this  has  much 
the  appearance  of  having  been  formed  by 
the  union  of  two  trunks  growing  side  by 
side. 

The  West-Springfield  elm  and  one  upon 
Northampton  meadows  belong  also  to  the 
first  class  of  trees. 

There  is  a  noble  old  wreck  of  an  elm  at 
Hatfield,  which  used  to  spread  its  claws  out 
over  a  circumference  of  thirty-five  feet  or 
more  before  they  covered  the  foot  of  its  bole 
up  with  earth.  This  is  the  American  elm 
most  like  an  oak  of  any  I  have  ever  seen. 

The  Sheffield  elm  is  equally  remarkable 
for  size  and  perfection  of  form.  I  have 
seen  nothing  that  comes  near  it  in  Berkshire 
County,  and  few  to  compare  with  it  any 
where.  I  am  not  sure  that  1  remember  any 


326  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

other  first-class  elms  in  New  England,  but 
there  may  be  many. 

-  What  makes  a  first-class  elm  ?  —  Why, 
size,  in  the  first  place,  and  chiefly.  Any 
thing  over  twenty  feet  of  clear  girth,  five 
feet  above  the  ground,  and  with  a  spread  of 
branches  a  hundred  feet  across,  may  claim 
that  title,  according  to  my  scale.  All  of 
them,  with  the  questionable  exception  of  the 
Springfield  tree  above  referred  to,  stop,  so 
far  as  my  experience  goes,  at  about  twenty- 
two  or  twenty -three  feet  of  girth  and  a 
hundred  and  twenty  of  spread. 

Elms  of  the  second  class,  generally  rang 
ing  from  fourteen  to  eighteen  feet,  are  com 
paratively  common.  The  queen  of  them  all 
is  that  glorious  tree  near  one  of  the  churches 
in  Springfield.  Beautiful  and  stately  she 
is  beyond  all  praise.  The  "  great  tree  "  on 
Boston  Common  comes  in  the  second  rank, 
as  does  the  one  at  Cohasset,  which  used  to 
have,  and  probably  has  still,  a  head  as  round 
as  an  apple-tree,  and  that  at  Newburyport, 
with  scores  of  others  which  might  be  men 
tioned.  These  last  two  have  perhaps  been 
over-celebrated.  Both,  however,  are  pleas 
ing  vegetables.  The  poor  old  Pittsfield  elm 
lives  on  its  past  reputation.  A  wig  of  false 
leaves  is  indispensable  to  make  it  present 
able. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  327 

[I  don't  doubt  there  may  be  some  mon 
ster-elm  or  other,  vegetating  green,  but 
inglorious,  in  some  remote  New  England 
village,  which  only  wants  a  sacred  singer  to 
make  it  celebrated.  Send  us  your  measure 
ments,  —  (certified  by  the  postmaster,  to 
avoid  possible  imposition),  —  circumference 
five  feet  from  soil,  length  of  line  from  bough- 
end  to  bough-end,  and  we  will  see  what  can 
be  done  for  you.] 

—  I  wish  somebody  would  get  us  up  the 
following  work :  — 

SYLVA   NOVANGLICA. 

Photographs  of  New  England  Elms  and 
other  Trees,  taken  upon  the  Same  Scale  of 
Magnitude.  With  Letter -Press  Descrip 
tions,  by  a  Distinguished  Literary  Gentle 
man.  Boston &  Co.  185  .  . 

The  same  camera  should  be  used,  —  so 
far  as  possible,  —  at  a  fixed  distance.  Our 
friend,  who  has  given  us  so*  many  interesting 
figures  in  his  "  Trees  of  America,"  must 
not  think  this  Prospectus  invades  his  prov 
ince  ;  a  dozen  portraits,  with  lively  descrip 
tions,  would  be  a  pretty  complement  to  his 
large  work,  which,  so  far  as  published,  I  find 
excellent.  If  my  plan  were  carried  out,  and 
another  series  of  a  dozen  English  trees  pho- 


328  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

tographed  on  the  same  scale,  the  comparison 
would  be  charming. 

It  has  always  been  a  favorite  idea  of  mine 
to  bring  the  life  of  the  Old  and  the  New 
World  face  to  face,  by  an  accurate  compar 
ison  of  their  various  types  of  organization. 
We  should  begin  with  man,  of  course  ;  insti 
tute  a  large  and  exact  comparison  between 
the  development  of  la  pianta  umana,  as 
Alfieri  called  it,  in  different  sections  of  each 
country,  in  the  different  callings,  at  different 
ages,  estimating  height,  weight,  force  by  the 
dynamometer  and  the  spirometer,  and  fin 
ishing  off  with  a  series  of  typical  photo 
graphs,  giving  the  principal  national  physi 
ognomies.  Mr.  Hutchinson  has  given  us 
some  excellent  English  data  to  begin  with. 

Then  I  would  follow  this  up  by  contrast 
ing  the  various  parallel  forms  of  life  in  the 
two  continents.  Our  naturalists  have  often 
referred  to  this  incidentally  or  expressly ; 
but  the  animus  of  Nature  in  the  two  half 
globes  of  the  planet  is  so  momentous  a  point 
of  interest  to  our  race,  that  it  should  be 
made  a  subject  of  express  and  elaborate 
study.  Go  out  with  me  into  that  walk  which 
we  call  the  Mall,  and  look  at  the  English 
and  American  elms.  The  American  elm  is 
tall,  graceful,  slender-sprayed,  and  drooping 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  329 

as  if  from  languor.  The  English  elm  is 
compact,  robust,  holds  its  branches  up,  and 
carries  its  leaves  for  weeks  longer  than  our 
own  native  tree. 

Is  this  typical  of  the  creative  force  on  the 
two  sides  of  the  ocean,  or  not?  Nothing 
but  a  careful  comparison  through  the  whole 
realm  of  life  can  answer  this  question. 

There  is  a  parallelism  without  identity  in 
the  animal  and  vegetable  life  of  the  two 
continents,  which  favors  the  task  of  com 
parison  in  an  extraordinary  manner.  Just 
as  we  have  two  trees  alike  in  many  ways, 
yet  not  the  same,  both  elms,  yet  easily  dis 
tinguishable,  just  so  we  have  a  complete 
flora  and  a  fauna,  which,  parting  from  the 
same  ideal,  embody  it  with  various  modifi 
cations.  Inventive  power  is  the  only  qual 
ity  of  which  the  "Creative  Intelligence  seems 
to  be  economical;  just  as  with  our  largest 
human  minds,  that  is  the  divinest  of  facul 
ties,  and  the  one  that  most  exhausts  the 
mind  which  exercises  it.  As  the  same  pat 
terns  have  very  commonly  been  followed, 
we  can  see  which  is  worked  out  in  the  largest 
spirit,  and  determine  the  exact  limitations 
under  which  the  Creator  places  the  move 
ment  of  life  in  all  its  manifestations  in 
either  locality.  We  should  find  ourselves 


330  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

in  a  very  false  position,  if  it  should  prove 
that  Anglo-Saxons  can't  live  here,  but  die 
out,  if  not  kept  up  by  fresh  supplies,  as  Dr. 
Knox  and  other  more  or  less  wise  persons 
have  maintained.  It  may  turn  out  the  other 
way,  as  I  have  heard  one  of  our  literary 
celebrities  argue,  —  and  though  I  took  the 
other  side,  I  liked  his  best,  —  that  the 
American  is  the  Englishman  reinforced. 

—  Will  you  walk  out  and  look  at  those 
elms  with  me  after  breakfast?  —  I  said  to 
the  schoolmistress. 

[I  am  not  going  to  tell  lies  about  it,  and  say 
that  she  blushed,  —  as  I  suppose  she  ought 
to  have  done,  at  such  a  tremendous  piece  of 
gallantry  as  that  was  for  our  boarding- 
house.  On  the  contrary,  she  turned  a  little 
pale,  —  but  smiled  brightly  and  said,  —  Yes, 
with  pleasure,  but  she  must  walk  towards 
her  school.  —  She  went  for  her  bonnet.  — 
The  old  gentleman  opposite  followed  her 
with  his  eyes,  and  said  he  wished  he  was  a 
young  fellow.  Presently  she  came  down, 
looking  very  pretty  in  her  half-mourning 
bonnet,  and  carrying  a  school-book  in  her 
hand.] 


Wve. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  331 

MY     FIRST    WALK     WITH    THE     SCHOOLMIS 
TRESS. 

This  is  the  shortest  way,  —  she  said,  as 
we  came  to  a  corner.  —  Then  we  won't  take 
it,  —  said  I.  —  The  schoolmistress  laughed  a 
little,  and  said  she  was  ten  minutes  early,  so 
she  could  go  round. 

We  walked  under  Mr.  Paddock's  row  of 
English  elms.1  The  gray  squirrels  were  out 
looking  for  their  breakfasts,  and  one  of 
them  came  toward  us  in  light,  soft,  intermit 
tent  leaps,  until  he  was  close  to  the  rail  of 
the  burial-ground.  He  was  on  a  grave  with 
a  broad  blue-slate-stone  at  its  head,  and  a 
shrub  growing  on  it.  The  stone  said  this 
was  the  grave  of  a  young  man  who  was  the 
son  of  an  Honorable  gentleman,  and  who 
died  a  hundred  years  ago  and  more.  —  Oh, 
yes,  died,  —  with  a  small  triangular  mark 
in  one  breast,  and  another  smaller  opposite, 
in  his  back,  where  another  young  man's  ra 
pier  had  slid  through  his  body  ;  and  so  he 
lay  down  out  there  on  the  Common,  and 
was  found  cold  the  next  morning,  with  the 
night-dews  and  the  death-dews  mingled  on 
his  forehead. 

1  "Mr.  Paddock's  row  of  English  elms"  has  gone, 
but  "  Poor  Benjamin  "  lies  quietly  under  the  same  stone 
the  schoolmistress  saw  through  the  iron  rails. 


332  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Let  us  have  one  look  at  poor  Benjamin's 
grave,  —  said  I.  —  His  bones  lie  where  his 
body  was  laid  so  long  ago,  and  where  the 
stone  says  they  lie,  —  which  is  more  than 
can  be  said  of  most  of  the  tenants  of  this 
and  several  other  burial-grounds. 

[The  most  accursed  act  of  Vandalism 
ever  committed  within  my  knowledge  was 
the  uprooting  of  the  ancient  gravestones  in 
three  at  least  of  our  city  burial-grounds, 
and  one  at  least  just  outside  the  city,  and 
planting  them  in  rows  to  suit  the  taste  for 
symmetry  of  the  perpetrators.  Many  years 
ago,  when  this  disgraceful  process  was  going 
on  under  my  eyes,  I  addressed  an  indignant 
remonstrance  to  a  leading  journal.  I  sup 
pose  it  was  deficient  in  literary  elegance,  or 
too  warm  in  its  language ;  for  no  notice  was 
taken  of  it,  and  the  hyena-horror  was  al 
lowed  to  complete  itself  in  the  face  of  day 
light.  I  have  never  got  over  it.  The  bones 
of  my  own  ancestors,  being  entombed,  lie 
beneath  their  own  tablet ;  but  the  upright 
stones  have  been  shuffled  about  like  chess 
men,  and  nothing  short  of  the  Day  of  Judg 
ment  will  tell  whose  dust  lies  beneath  any 
of  those  records,  meant  by  affection  to  mark 
one  small  spot  as  sacred  to  some  cherished 
memory.  Shame  !  shame !  shame  !  —  that 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  383 

is  all  I  can  say.  It  was  on  public  thorough 
fares,  under  the  eye  of  authority,  that  this 
infamy  was  enacted.  The  red  Indians  would 
have  known  better;  the  selectmen  of  an 
African  kraal- village  would  have  had  more 
respect  for  their  ancestors.  I  should  like  to 
see  the  gravestones  which  have  been  dis 
turbed  all  removed,  and  the  ground  levelled, 
leaving  the  flat  tombstones  ;  epitaphs  were 
never  famous  for  truth,  but  the  old  reproach 
of  "  Here  lies  "  never  had  such  a  wholesale 
illustration  as  in  these  outraged  burial- 
place^,  where  the  stone  does  lie  above  and 
the  bones  do  not  lie  beneath.] 

Stop  before  we  turn  away,  and  breathe  a 
woman's  sigh  over  poor  Benjamin's  dust. 
Love  killed  him,  I  think.  Twenty  years 
old,  and  out  there  fighting  another  young 
fellow  on  the  Common,  in  the  cool  of  that 
old  July  evening ;  - —  yes,  there  must  have 
been  love  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

The  schoolmistress  dropped  a  rosebud  she 
had  in  her  hand,  through  the  rails,  upon  the 
grave  of  Benjamin  Woodbridge.  That  was 
all  her  comment  upon  what  I  told  her.  — 
How  women  love  Love  !  said  I ;  —  but  she 
did  not  speak. 

We  came  opposite  the  head  of  a  place  or 
court  running  eastward  from  the  main  street. 


334  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

—  Look  down  there,  —  I  said,  —  My  friend, 
the  Professor,  lived  in  that  house  at  the  left 
hand,  next  the  further  corner,  for  years  and 
years.     He  died  out  of  it,  the   other  day. 

—  Died  ?  —  said  the  schoolmistress.  —  Cer 
tainly,  —  said  I.  —  We  die  out  of  houses, 
just  as  we  die  out  of  our  bodies.     A  com 
mercial  smash  kills  a  hundred  men's  houses 
for  them,  as  a  railroad  crash  kills  their  mor 
tal  frames  and  drives  out  the  immortal  ten 
ants.     Men  sicken  of  houses  until  at  last 
they  quit  them,  as  the  soul  leaves  its  body 
when  it  is  tired  of  its  infirmities.     The  body 
has  been  called  "  the  house  we  live  in  "  ;  the 
house  is  quite  as  much  the  body  we  live  in. 
Shall  I  tell  you  some  things  the  Professor 
said    the   other    day  ?  —  Do  !  —  said    the 
schoolmistress. 

A  man's  body,  —  said  the  Professor,  —  is 
whatever  is  occupied  by  his  will  and  his 
sensibility.  The  small  room  down  there, 
where  I  wrote  those  papers  you  remember 
reading,  was  much  more  a  portion  of  my 
body  than  a  paralytic's  senseless  and  mo 
tionless  arm  or  leg  is  of  his. 

The  soul  of  a  man  has  a  series  of  concen 
tric  envelopes  round  it,  like  the  core  of  an 
onion,  or  the  innermost  of  a  nest  of  boxes. 
First,  he  has  his  natural  garment  of  flesh 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  335 

and  blood.  Then,  his  artificial  integuments, 
with  their  true  skin  of  solid  stuffs,  their  cu 
ticle  of  lighter  tissues,  and  their  variously- 
tinted  pigments.  Thirdly,  his  domicile,  be 
it  a  single  chamber  or  a  stately  mansion. 
And  then,  the  whole  visible  world,  in  which 
Time  buttons  him  up  as  in  a  loose  outside 
wrapper. 

You  shall  observe,  —  the  Professor  said, 
—  for,  like  Mr.  John  Hunter  and  other  great 
men,  he  brings  in  that  shall  with  great  ef 
fect  sometimes,  —  you  shall  observe  that  a 
man's  clothing  or  series  of  envelopes  does 
after  a  certain  time  mould  itself  upon  his 
individual  nature.  We  know  this  of  our 
hats,  and  are  always  reminded  of  it  when  we 
happen  to  put  them  on  wrong  side  foremost. 
We  soon  find  that  the  beaver  is  a  hollow 
cast  of  the  skull,  with  all  its  irregular  bumps 
and  depressions.  Just  so  all  that  clothes  a 
man,  even  to  the  blue  sky  which  caps  his 
head,  —  a  little  loosely,  —  shapes  itself  to  fit 
each  particular  being  beneath  it.  Farmers, 
sailors,  astronomers,  poets,  lovers,  condemned 
criminals,  all  find  it  different,  according  to 
the  eyes  with  which  they  severally  look. 

But  our  houses  shape  themselves  palpably 
on  our  inner  and  outer  natures.  See  a  house 
holder  breaking  up  and  you  will  be  sure  of 


336  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

it.  There  is  a  shell-fish  which  builds  all 
manner  of  smaller  shells  into  the  walls  of 
its  own.  A  house  is  never  a  home  until  we 
have  crusted  it  with  the  spoils  of  a  hundred 
lives  besides  those  of  our  own  past.  See 
what  these  are  and  you  can  tell  what  the  oc 
cupant  is. 

I  had  no  idea,  —  said  the  Professor,  — 
until  I  pulled  up  my  domestic  establishment 
the  other  day,  what  an  enormous  quantity  of 
roots  I  had  been  making  during  the  years 
I  was  planted  there.  Why,  there  was  n't  a 
nook  or  a  corner  that  some  fibre  had  not 
worked  its  way  into ;  and  when  I  gave  the 
last  wrench,  each  of  them  seemed  to  shriek 
like  a  mandrake  as  it  broke  its  hold  and 
came  away. 

There  is  nothing  that  happens,  you  know, 
which  must  not  inevitably,  and  which  does 
not  actually,  photograph  itself  in  every  con 
ceivable  aspect  and  in  all  dimensions.  The 
infinite  galleries  of  the  Past  await  but  one 
brief  process  and  all  their  pictures  will  be 
called  out  and  fixed  forever.  We  had  a  cu 
rious  illustration  of  the  great  fact  on  a  very 
humble  scale.  When  a  certain  bookcase, 
long  standing  in  one  place,  for  which  it  was 
built,  was  removed,  there  was  the  exact 
image  on  the  wall  of  the  whole,  and  of  many 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  337 

of  its  portions.  But  in  the  midst  of  this 
picture  was  another,  —  the  precise  outline  of 
a  map  which  had  hung  on  the  wall  before 
the  bookcase  was  built.  We  had  all  forgot 
ten  everything  about  the  map  until  we  saw 
its  photograph  on  the  wall.  Then  we  re 
membered  it,  as  some  day  or  other  we  may 
remember  a  sin  which  has  been  built  over 
and  covered  up,  when  this  lower  universe  is 
pulled  away  from  before  the  wall  of  Infinity, 
where  the  wrong-doing  stands  self-recorded. 
The  Professor  lived  in  that  house  a  long 
time  —  not  twenty  years,  but  pretty  near  it. 
When  he  entered  that  door,  two  shadows 
glided  over  the  threshold ;  five  lingered  in 
the  door-way  when  he  passed  through  it  for 
the  last  time,  —  and  one  of  the  shadows  was 
claimed  by  its  owner  to  be  longer  than  his 
own.  What  changes  he  saw  in  that  quiet 
place  !  Death  rained  through  every  roof  but 
his;  children  came  into  life,  grew  to  matu 
rity,  wedded,  faded  away,  threw  themselves 
away ;  the  whole  drama  of  life  was  played 
in  that  stock  company's  theatre  of  a  dozen 
houses,  one  of  which  was  his,  and  no  deep 
sorrow  or  severe  calamity  ever  entered  his 
dwelling.  Peace  be  to  those  walls,  forever, 
—  the  Professor  said,  —  for  the  many  pleas~ 
ant  years  he  has  passed  within  them ! 


338  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

The  Professor  has  a  friend,  now  living  at 
a  distance,  who  has  been  with  him  in  many 
of  his  changes  of  place,  and  who  follows 
him  in  imagination  with  tender  interest  wher 
ever  he  goes.  —  In  that  little  court,  where 
he  lived  in  gay  loneliness  so  long,  — 

—  in  his  autumnal  sojourn  by  the  Con 
necticut,  where  it  comes  loitering  down  from 
its  mountain  fastnesses  like  a  great  lord, 
swallowing  up  the  small  proprietary  rivulets 
very  quietly  as  it  goes,  until  it  gets  proud 
and  swollen  and  wantons  in  huge  luxurious 
oxbows  about  the  fair  Northampton  mead 
ows,  and  at  last  overflows  the  oldest  inhabi 
tant's  memory  in  profligate  freshets  at  Hart 
ford  and  all  along  its  lower  shores,  —  up  in 
that  caravansary  on  the  banks  of  the  stream 
where  Ledyard  launched  his  log  canoe,  and 
the  jovial  old  Colonel  used  to  lead  the  Com 
mencement  processions,  —  where  blue  Ascut- 
ney  looked  down  from  the  far  distance,  and 
the  hills  of  Beulah,  as  the  Professor  always 
called  them,  rolled  up  the  opposite  horizon 
in  soft  climbing  masses,  so  suggestive  of  the 
Pilgrim's  Heavenward  Path  that  he  used  to 
look  through  his  old  "  Dollond  "  to  see  if  the 
Shining  Ones  were  not  within  range  of  sight, 
—  sweet  visions,  sweetest  in  those  Sunday 
walks  which  carried  them  by  the  peaceful 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  339 

Common,  through  the  solemn  village  lying 
in  cataleptic  stillness  under  the  shadow  of 
the  rod  of  Moses,  to  the  terminus  of  their 
harmless  stroll,  —  the  patulous  f age,  in  the 
Professor's  classic  dialect,  —  the  spreading 
beech,  in  more  familiar  phrase,  —  [stop  and 
breathe  here  a  moment,  for  the  sentence  is 
not  done  yet,  and  we  have  another  long  jour 
ney  before  us,]  — 

—  and  again  once  more  up  among  those 
other  hills  that  shut  in  the  amber-flowing 
Housatonic,  —  dark  stream,  but  clear,  like 
the  lucid  orbs  that  shine  beneath  the  lids 
of  auburn  -  haired,  sherry  -  wine  -  eyed  demi- 
blondes,  —  in  the  home  overlooking  the  wind 
ing  stream  and  the  smooth,  flat  meadow ; 
looked  down  upon  by  wild  hills,  where  the 
tracks  of  bears  and  catamounts  may  yet 
sometimes  be  seen  upon  the  winter  snow ; 
facing  the  twin  summits  which  rise  in  the 
far  North,  the  highest  waves  of  the  great 
land-storm  in  all  this  billowy  region,  —  sug 
gestive  to  mad  fancies  of  the  breasts  of  a 
half -buried  Titaness,  stretched  out  by  a 
stray  thunderbolt,  and  hastily  hidden  away 
beneath  the  leaves  of  the  forest,  —  in  that 
home  where  seven  blessed  summers  were 
passed,  which  stand  in  memory  like  the 
seven  golden  candlesticks  in  the  beatific  vis 
ion  of  the  holy  dreamer,  — 


340  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

—  in  that  modest  dwelling  we  were  just 
looking  at,   not  glorious,  yet  not   unlovely 
in  the  youth  of  its  drab  and  mahogany,  — 
full  of  great  and  little  boys'  playthings  from 
top  to  bottom,  —  in  all  these  summer  or  win 
ter  nests  he  was  always  at  home  and  always 
welcome. 

This  long  articulated  sigh  of  reminis 
cences,  —  this  calenture  which  shows  me  the 
maple-shadowed  plains  of  Berkshire  and  the 
mountain-circled  green  of  Grafton  beneath 
the  salt  waves  which  come  feeling  their  way 
along  the  wall  at  my  feet,  restless  and  soft- 
touching  as  blind  men's  busy  fingers,  —  is 
for  that  friend  of  mine  1  who  looks  into  the 
waters  of  the  Patapsco  and  sees  beneath 
them  the  same  visions  which  paint  them 
selves  for  me  in  the  green  depths  of  the 
Charles. 

—  Did  I  talk  all  this  off  to  the  school- 

1  "That  friend  of  mine"  was  the  late  Joseph  Roby, 
once  a  fellow-teacher  with  me  in  the  Medical  School  of 
Dartmouth  College,  afterwards  professor  in  the  Univer 
sity  of  Maryland.  He  was  a  man  of  keen  intellect  and 
warm  affections,  but  out  of  the  range  of  his  official  du 
ties  seen  of  few  and  understood  only  by  a  very  limited 
number  of  intimates.  I  used  to  refer  to  my  wise  friend 
so  often,  and  he  was  so  rarely  visible,  that  some  doubted 
if  there  was  any  such  individual,  or  if  he  were  not  of  the 
impersonal  nature  of  Sairy  Gamp's  Mrs.  Harris.  I  re 
member  Emerson  was  ony  of  these  smiling'  sceptics. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  341 

mistress  ?  —  Why,  no,  —  of  course  not.  I 
have  been  talking  with  you,  the  reader,  for 
the  last  ten  minutes.  You  don't  think  I 
should  expect  any  woman  to  listen  to  such  a 
sentence  as  that  long  one,  without  giving 
her  a  chance  to  put  in  a  word  ? 

—  What  did  I  say  to  the  schoolmistress  ? 
—  Permit  me  one  moment.  I  don't  doubt 
your  delicacy  and  good  -  breeding ;  but  in 
this  particular  case,  as  I  was  allowed  the 
privilege  of  walking  alone  with  a  very  in 
teresting  young  woman,  you  must  allow  me 
to  remark,  in  the  classic  version  of  a  famil 
iar  phrase,  used  by  our  Master  Benjamin 
Franklin,  it  is  nullum  tui  negotii. 

When  the  schoolmistress  and  I  reached 
the  schoolroom  door,  the  damask  roses  I 
spoke  of  were  so  much  heightened  in  color 
by  exercise  that  I  felt  sure  it  would  be  use 
ful  to  her  to  take  a  stroll  like  this  every 
morning,  and  made  up  my  mind  I  would 
ask  her  to  let  me  join  her  again. 

EXTRACT   FROM  MY   PRIVATE   JOURNAL. 

(To  be  burned  unread.) 

I  am  afraid  I  have  been  a  fool ;  for  I 
have  told  as  much  of  myself  to  this  young 
person  as  if  she  were  of  that  ripe  and  dis- 


342  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

creet  age  which  invites  confidence  and  ex 
pansive  utterance.  I  have  been  low-spirited 
and  listless,  lately,  —  it  is  coffee,  I  think,  — 
(I  observe  that  which  is  bought  ready- 
ground  never  affects  the  head),  —  and  I  no 
tice  that  I  tell  my  secrets  too  easily  when  I 
am  down-hearted. 

There  are  inscriptions  on  our  hearts, 
which,  like  that  on  Dighton  Rock,  are  never 
to  be  seen  except  at  dead-low  tide. 

There  is  a  woman's  footstep  011  the  sand 
at  the  side  of  my  deepest  ocean-buried  in 
scription  ! 

—  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  a  thousand  times,  no  ! 
—  Yet  what  is  this  which  has  been  shaping 
itself  in  my  soul  ?  —  Is  it  a  thought  ?  —  is  it 
a  dream  ?  —  is  it  a  passion  ?  —  Then  I  know 
what  comes  next. 

—  The  Asylum  stands  on  a  bright  and 
breezy  hill ;  those  glazed  corridors  are  pleas 
ant  to  walk  in,  in  bad  weather.     But  there 
are  iron  bars  to  all  the  windows.     When  it 
is  fair,  some   of  us  can  stroll   outside  that 
very  high  fence.     But  I  never  see  much  life 
in  those  groups   I  sometimes  meet ;  —  and 
then  the  careful  man  watches  them  so  close 
ly  1     How  I  remember  that  sad  company  I 
used  to  pass  on  fine  mornings,  when  I  was  a 
schoolboy !  —  B.,  with  his  arms  full  of  yel- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  343 

low  weeds,  —  ore  from  the  gold  mines  which 
he  discovered  long  before  we  heard  of  Cali 
fornia,  —  Y.,  born  to  millions,  crazed  by  too 
much  plum-cake  (the  boys  said),  dogged, 
explosive,  —  made  a  Polyphemus  of  my 
weak-eyed  schoolmaster,  by  a  vicious  flirt 
with  a  stick,  —  (the  multi-mi llionnaires  sent 
him  a  trifle,  it  was  said,  to  buy  another  eye 
with ;  but  boys  are  jealous  of  rich  folks,  and 
I  don't  doubt  the  good  people  made  him 
easy  for  life),  —  how  I  remember  them  all ! 
I  recollect,  as  all  do,  the  story  of  the  Hall 
of  Eblis,  in  "  Vathek,"  and  how  each  shape, 
as  it  lifted  its  hand  from  its  breast,  showed 
its  heart,  —  a  burning  coal.  The  real  Hall 
of  Eblis  stands  on  yonder  summit.  Go 
there  on  the  next  visiting-day  and  ask  that 
figure  crouched  in  the  corner,  huddled  up 
like  those  Indian  mummies  and  skeletons 
found  buried  in  the  sitting  posture,  to  lift 
its  hand,  —  look  upon  its  heart,  and  behold, 
not  fire,  but  ashes.  —  No,  I  must  not  think 
of  such  an  ending !  Dying  would  be  a 
much  more  gentlemanly  way  of  meeting  the 
difficulty.  Make  a  will  and  leave  her  a 
house  or  two  and  some  stocks,  and  other  lit 
tle  financial  conveniences,  to  take  away  her 
necessity  for  keeping  school.  —  I  wonder 
what  nice  young  man's  feet  would  be  in  my 


344  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

French  slippers  before  six  months  were  over ! 
Well,  what  then  ?  If  a  man  really  loves  a 
woman,  of  course  he  would  n't  marry  her 
for  the  world,  if  he  were  not  quite  sure  that 
he  was  the  best  person  she  could  by  any 
possibility  marry. 

—  It  is  odd  enough  to  read  over  what  I 
have  just  been  writing.  —  It  is  the  merest 
fancy  that  ever  was  in  the  world.     I  shall 
never  .be  married.     She  will ;  and  if  she  is 
as  pleasant  as  she  has  been  so  far,  I  will 
give  her  a  silver  tea-set,  and  go  and  take 
tea  with  her  and  her  husband,   sometimes. 
No  coffee,  I  hope,  though,  —  it  depresses  me 
sadly.     I  feel  very  miserably  ;  —  they  must 
have  been  grinding  it  at  home.  —  Another 
morning  walk  will  be  good  for  me,  and  I 
don't  doubt  the  schoolmistress  will  be  glad 
of  a  little  fresh  air  before  school. 

—  The  throbbing  flushes  of  the  poetical 
intermittent  have  been  coming  over  me  from 
time  to  time  of  late.     Did  you  ever  see  that 
electrical  experiment  which  consists  in  pass 
ing  a  flash  through  letters  of  gold  leaf  in  a 
darkened  room,  .whereupon   some  name  or 
legend  springs  out  of  the  darkness  in  char 
acters  of  fire  ? 

There  are  songs  all  written  out  in  my  soul, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  345 

which  I  could  read,  if  the  flash  might  pass 
through  them,  —  but  the  fire  must  come 
down  from  heaven.  Ah !  but  what  if  the 
stormy  nimbus  of  youthful  passion  has 
blown  by,  and  one  asks  for  lightning  from 
the  ragged  cirrus  of  dissolving  aspirations, 
or  the  silvered  cumulas  of  sluggish  satiety? 
I  will  call  on  her  whom  the  dead  poets  be 
lieved  in,  whom  living  ones  no  longer  wor 
ship,  —  the  immortal  maid,  who,  name  her 
what  you  will,  —  Goddess,  Muse,  Spirit  of 
Beauty,  —  sits  by  the  pillow  of  every  youth 
ful  poet  and  bends  over  his  pale  forehead 
until  her  tresses  lie  upon  his  cheek  and  rain 
their  gold  into  his  dreams. 

MUSA. 

O  my  lost  Beauty  !  —  hast  thou  folded  quite 

Thy  wings  of  morning  light 

Beyond  those  iron  gates 

Where  Life  crowds  hurrying  to  the  haggard  Fates, 
And  Age  upon  his  mound  of  ashes  waits 

To  chill  our  fiery  dreams, 
Hot  from  the  heart  of  youth  plunged  in  his  icy  streams  ? 

Leave  me  not  fading  in  these  weeds  of  care, 

Whose  flowers  are  silvered  hair  !  — 

Have  I  not  loved  thee  long, 

Though  my  young  lips  have  often  done  thee  wrong 
And  vexed  thy  heaven-tuned  ear  with  careless  song  ? 

Ah,  wilt  thou  yet  return, 
Bearing  thy  rose-hued  torch,  and  bid  thine  altar  burn  ? 


346  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Come  to  me !  —  I  will  flood  thy  silent  shrine 

With  my  soul's  sacred  wine, 

And  heap  thy  marble  floors 

As  the  wild  spice-trees  waste  their  fragrant  stores 
In  leafy  islands  walled  with  madrepores 

And  lapped  in  Orient  seas, 

When  all  their  feathery  palms  toss,  plume-like,  in  the 
breeze. 

Come  to  me !  —  thou  shalt  feed  on  honeyed  words, 

Sweeter  than  song-  of  birds  ;  — 

No  wailing1  bulbul's  throat, 
No  melting-  dulcimer's  melodious  note, 
When  o'er  the  midnight  wave  its  murmurs  float, 

Thy  ravished  sense  might  soothe 
With  flow  so  liquid-soft,  with  strain  so  velvet-smooth. 

Thou  shalt  be  decked  with  jewels,  like  a  queen, 

Sought  in  those  bowers  of  green 

Where  loop  the  clustered  vines 
And  the  close-clinging  dulcamara  twines,  — 
Pure  pearls  of  Maydew  where  the  moonlight  shines, 

And  Summer's  fruited  gems, 
And  coral  pendants  shorn  from  Autumn's  berried  stems. 

Sit  by  me  drifting  on  the  sleepy  waves,  — 

Or  stretched  by  grass-grown  graves, 

Whose  gray,  high-shouldered  stones, 
Carved  with  old  names  Life's  time-worn  roll  disowns, 
Lean,  lichen-spotted,  o'er  the  crumbled  bones 

Still  slumbering  where  they  lay 
While  the  sad  pilgrim  watched  to  scare  the  wolf  away. 

Spread  o'er  my  couch  thy  visionary  wing ! 

Still  let  me  dream  and  sing,  — 

Dream  of  that  winding  shore 
Where  scarlet  cardinals  bloom,  —  for  me  no  more,  — 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  347 

Hie  stream  with  heaven  beneath  its  liquid  floor, 

And  clustering  nenuphars 
Sprinkling  its  mirrored  blue  like  golden-ehaliced  stars! 

Come  while  their  balms  the  linden-blossoms  shed !  — 

Come  while  the  rose  is  red,  — 

While  blue-eyed  Summer  smiles 
On  the  green  ripples  round  yon  sunken  piles 
Washed  by  the  moon-wave  warm  from  Indian  isles, 

And  on  the  sultry  air 
The  chestnuts  spread  their  palms  like  holy  men  in  prayer. 

Oh,  for  thy  burning  lips  to  fire  my  brain 

With  thrills  of  wild  sweet  pain  !  — 

On  life's  autumnal  blast, 

Like  shrivelled  leaves,  youth's  passion-flowers  are  cast,  — 
Once  loving  thee,  we  love  thee  to  the  last !  — 

Behold  thy  new-decked  shrine, 

And  hear  once  more  the  voice  that  breathed  "  Forever 
thine." 


XI. 

[THE  company  looked  a  little  flustered 
one  morning  when  I  came  in,  —  so  much  so, 
that  I  inquired  of  my  neighbor,  the  divinity- 
student,  what  had  been  going  on.  It  ap 
pears  that  the  young  fellow  whom  they  call 
John  had  taken  advantage  of  my  being  a 
little  late  (I  having  been  rather  longer  than 
usual  dressing  that  morning)  to  circulate 
several  questions  involving  a  quibble  or  play 
upon  words,  —  in  short,  containing  that  in- 


348  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

dignity  to  the  human  understanding,  con 
demned  in  the  passages  from  the  distin 
guished  moralist  of  the  last  century  and  the 
illustrious  historian  of  the  present,  which 
I  cited  on  a  former  occasion,  and  known  as 
a  pun.  After  breakfast,  one  of  the  boarders 
handed  me  a  small  roll  of  paper  containing 
some  of  the  questions  and  their  answers.  I 
subjoin  two  or  three  of  them,  to  show  what 
a  tendency  there  is  to  frivolity  and  meaning 
less  talk  in  young  persons  of  a  certain  sort, 
when  not  restrained  by  the  presence  of  more 
reflective  natures.  —  It  was  asked,  "  Why 
tertian  and  quartan  fevers  were  like  certain 
short-lived  insects."  Some  interesting  phys 
iological  relation  would  be  naturally  sug 
gested.  The  inquirer  blushes  to  find  that 
the  answer  is  in  the  paltry  equivocation,  that 
they  skip  a  day  or  two.  — "  Why  an  Eng 
lishman  must  go  to  the  Continent  to  weaken 
his  grog  or  punch."  The  answer  proves  to 
have  no  relation  whatever  to  the  temperance- 
movement,  as  no  better  reason  is  given  than 
that  island-  (or,  as  it  is  absurdly  written,  He 
and)  water  won't  mix.  —  But  when  I  came 
to  the  next  question  and  its  answer,  I  felt 
that  patience  ceased  to  be  a  virtue.  "  Why 
an  onion  is  like  a  piano  "  is  a  query  that  a 
person  of  sensibility  would  be  slow  to  pro* 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  349 

pose;  but  that  in  an  educated  community 
an  individual  could  be  found  to  answer  it  in 
these  words,  —  "  Because  it  smell  odious," 
quasi,  it 's  melodious,  —  is  not  credible,  but 
too  true.  I  can  show  you  the  paper. 

Dear  reader,  1  beg  your  pardon  for  re 
peating  such  things.  I  know  most  con 
versations  reported  in  books  are  altogether 
above  such  trivial  details,  but  folly  will  come 
up  at  every  table  as  surely  as  purslain  and 
chickweed  and  sorrel  will  come  up  in  gar 
dens.  This  young  fellow  ought  to  have 
talked  philosophy,  I  know  perfectly  well ; 
but  he  did  n't,  —  he  made  jokes.] 

I  am  willing,  —  I  said,  —  to  exercise  your 
ingenuity  in  a  rational  and  contemplative 
manner.  —  No,  I  do  not  proscribe  certain 
forms  of  philosophical  speculation  which  in 
volve  an  approach  to  the  absurd  or  the  ludi 
crous,  such  as  you  may  find,  for  example,  in 
the  folio  of  the  Reverend  Father  Thomas 
Sanchez,  in  his  famous  Disputations,  "  De 
Sancto  Matrimonio."  I  will  therefore  turn 
this  levity  of  yours  to  profit  by  reading  you  a 
rhymed  problem,  wrought  out  by  my  friend 
the  Professor. 


350  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

THE  DEACON'S  MASTERPIECE : 
OR  THE  WONDERFUL    ' '  ONE-HOSS-SHAY." 

A   LOGICAL   STORY. 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it  —  ah,  but  stay, 

I  '11  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay, 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits,  — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five, 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive,  — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive ; 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  ths  terrible  earthquake-day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss-shay. 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 
There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot,  — 
In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 
In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 
In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace,  —  lurking  still, 
Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will,  — 
Above  or  below,  or  within  or  Without,  — 
And  that 's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 
A  chaise  breaks  down,  but  does  n't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  Deacons  do, 
With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "I  tell 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  351 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 
'n'  the  keounty  V  all  the  kentry  raoun'  ; 
It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldri1  break  daown, 
—  "  Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  't  's  mighty  plain 
Thut  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain ; 
'n'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest 
T'  make  that  place  uz  strong-  uz  the  rest.*' 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  could  n't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke, — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thilla ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees, 

The  panels  of  whitewood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these  ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum,"  — 

Last  of  its  timber,  — they  couldn't  sell  'em, 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue  ; 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide  J 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through."  — 

"  There  !  "  said  the  Deacon,  "  naow  she  '11  dew." 

Do  !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less  ! 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren  —  where  were  they  ? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss-shay 

As  fresh  as  011  Lisbon-earthquake-day  ! 


352  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ;  —  it  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  Masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten  ;  — 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  they  called  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came  ;  — 
Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  come  fifty,  and  FIFTY-FIVE. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there  's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large ; 

Take  it.  —  You  're  welcome.  —  No  extra  charge.) 

FIRST  OF  NOVEMBER,  —  the  Earthquake-day.  — = 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss-shay, 

A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  could  n't  be,  — for  the  Deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 

That  there  was  n't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  j  ust  as  strong  as  the  thills, 

And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 

And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 

And  the  whippletree  neither  less  nor  more, 

And  the  back-crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 

And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 

And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 

In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out ! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five  ! 
This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 
Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way  ! 
Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  353 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 

"  Huddup  !  "  said  the  parson.  —  Off  went  they. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text,  — 
Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 
At  what  the  —  Moses  —  was  coining  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 
Close  by  the  meet'n' -house  on  the  hill. 

—  First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill,  — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 

At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet'n' -house  clock,  — 
Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 

—  What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground. 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you  're  not  a  dunce, 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once,  — 

All  at  once,  and  nothing  first,  — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay. 
Logic  is  logic.     That 's  all  I  say. 

—  I  think  there  is  one  habit,  —  I  said  to 
our  company  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  — 
worse  than  that  of  punning.  It  is  the  gradual 
substitution  of  cant  or  slang  terms  for  words 
which  truly  characterize  their  objects.  1 
have  known  several  very  genteel  idiots  whose 
whole  vocabulary  had  deliquesced  into  some 
half  dozen  expressions.  All  things  fell  into 
one  of  two  great  categories,  — fast  or  slow. 
Man's  chief  end  was  to  be  a  brick.  When 


354  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

the  great  calamities  of  life  overtook  their 
friends,  these  last  were  spoken  of  as  being 
a  good  deal  cut  up.  Nine  tenths  of  hu 
man  existence  were  summed  up  in  the  single 
word,  bore.  These  expressions  come  to  be 
the  algebraic  symbols  of  minds  which  have 
grown  too  weak  or  indolent  to  discriminate. 
They  are  the  blank  checks  of  intellectual 
bankruptcy;  —  you  may  fill  them  up  with 
what  idea  you  like  ;  it  makes  no  difference, 
for  there  are  no  funds  in  the  treasury  upon 
which  they  are  drawn.  Colleges  and  good- 
f  or  -  nothing  smoking  -  clubs  are  the  places 
where  these  conversational  fungi  spring  up 
most  luxuriantly.  Don't  think  I  undervalue 
the  proper  use  and  application  of  a  cant 
word  or  phrase.  It  adds  piquancy  to  con 
versation,  as  a  mushroom  does  to  a  sauce. 
But  it  is  no  better  than  a  toadstool,  odious 
to  the  sense  and  poisonous  to  the  intellect, 
when  it  spawns  itself  all  over  the  talk  of 
men  and  youths  capable  of  talking,  as  it 
sometimes  does.  As  we  hear  slang  phrase 
ology,  it  is  commonly  the  dish-water  from 
the  washings  of  English  dandyism,  school 
boy  or  full-grown,  wrung  out  of  a  three- 
volume  novel  Whicii  had  sopped  it  up,  or 
decanted  from  the  pictured  urn  of  Mr.  Ver 
dant  Green,  and  diluted  to  suit  the  pro 
vincial  climate. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  355 

—  The   young  fellow  called  John  spoke 
up  sharply  and  said,  it  was  "  rum  "  to  hear 
me  "  pitchin'  into  fellers "  for  "  goin'  it  in 
the  slang  line,"  when  I  used  all  the   flash 
words  myself  just  when  I  pleased. 

—  I  replied  with  my  usual  forbearance. 
—  Certainly,  to  give  up  the  algebraic  sym 
bol  because  a  or  b  is  often  a  cover  for  ideal 
nihility,  would  be  unwise.     I  have  heard  a 
child   laboring  to  express   a  certain  condi 
tion,  involving  a  hitherto  undescribed  sensa 
tion  (as  it  supposed),   all  of  which  could 
have  been  sufficiently  explained  by  the  parti 
ciple  —  bored.     I  have  seen  a  country-cler 
gyman,  with  a  one-story  intellect  and  a  one- 
horse    vocabulary,    who   has    consumed   his 
valuable  time  (and  mine)  freely,  in  develop 
ing  an  opinion  of   a  brother-minister's  dis 
course  which  would  have  been  abundantly 
characterized  by  a  peach-down-lipped  soph 
omore  in  the  one  word  —  slow.     Let  us  dis 
criminate,  and  be  shy  of  absolute  proscrip 
tion.     I  am  omniverbivorous  by  nature  and 
training.    Passing  by  such  words  as  are  pois 
onous,  I  can  swallow  most  others,  and  chew 
such  as  I  cannot  swallow. 

Dandies  are  not  good  for  much,  but  they 
are  good  for  something.  They  invent  or  keep 
in  circulation  those  conversational  blank 


356  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

checks  or  counters  just  spoken  of,  whi3li  in 
tellectual  capitalists  may  sometimes  find  it 
worth  their  while  to  borrow  of  them.  They 
are  useful,  too,  in  keeping  up  the  stand  ird 
of  dress,  which,  but  for  them,  would  dete 
riorate,  and  become,  what  some  old  fools 
would  have  it,  a  matter  of  convenience,  and 
not  of  taste  and  art.  Yes,  I  like  dandies 
well  enough,  —  on  one  condition. 

—  What  is  that,  Sir  ?  —  said  the  divinity- 
student.     . 

—  That  they  have  pluck.     I  find  that  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  all  true  dandyism.     A  lit 
tle  boy  dressed  up  very  fine,  who  puts  his 
finger  in  his  mouth  and  takes  to  crying,  if 
other  boys  make  fun  of  him,  looks  very  silly. 
But  if  he  turns  red  in  the  face  and  knotty 
in  the  fists,  and  makes  an  example  of  the 
biggest  of  his  assailants,  throwing  off  his  fine 
Leghorn  and  his  thickly- buttoned  jacket,  if 
necessary,  to  consummate  the  act  of  justice, 
his  small  toggery  takes  on  the  splendors  of 
the  crested  helmet  that  frightened  Astya- 
nax.     YGI-.  remember  that  the  Duke  said  his 
dandy  officers  were  his  best  officers.     The 
"  Sunday  blood,"  the  super-superb  sartorial 
equestrian  of  our  annual  Fast-day,   is  not 
imposing  or  dangerous.      But  such  fellows 
as  Brummel  and  D' Or  say  and  Byron  arb 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  357 

not  to  be  snubbed  quite  so  easily.  Look 
out  for  "  la  main  de  fer  sous  le  gant  de 
velours "  (which  I  printed  in  English  the 
other  day  without  quotation-marks,  thinking 
whether  any  scarabceus  criticus  would  add 
this  to  his  globe  and  roll  in  glory  with  it 
into  the  newspapers,  —  which  he  did  n't  do 
it,  in  the  charming  pleonasm  of  the  Lon 
don  language,  and  therefore  I  claim  the  sole 
merit  of  exposing  the  same).  A  good  many 
powerful  and  dangerous  people  have  had 
a  decided  dash  of  dandyism  about  them. 
There  was  Alcibiades,  the  '  curled  son  of 
Clinias,'  "  an  accomplished  young  man,  but 
what  would  be  called  a  "  swell "  in  these 
days.  There  was  Aristoteles,  a  very  distin 
guished  writer,  of  whom  you  have  heard,  — 
a  philosopher,  in  short,  whom  it  took  cen 
turies  to  learn,  centuries  to  unlearn,  and  is 
now  going  to  take  a  generation  or  more  to 
learn  over  again.  Regular  dandy  he  was. 
So  was  Marcus  Antonius;  and  though  he 
lost  his  game,  he  played  for  big  stakes,  and 
it  wasn't  his  dandyism  that  spoiled  his 
chance.  Petrarca  was  not  to  be  despised  as 
a  scholar  or  a  poet,  but  he  was  one  of  the 
same  sort.  So  was  Sir  Humphry  Davy; 
so  was  Lord  Palmerston,  formerly,  if  I  am 
not  forgetful.  Yes,  —  a  dandy  is  good  for 


358  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

something  as  such ;  and  dandies  such  as  I 
was  just  speaking  of  have  rocked  this  planet 
like  a  cradle,  —  aye,  and  left  it  swinging  to 
this  day.  —  Still,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  n't 
go  to  the  tailor's,  on  the  strength  of  these 
remarks,  and  run  up  a  long  bill  which  will 
render  pockets  a  superfluity  in  your  next 
suit.  Elegans  "  nascitur,  nonfit"  A  man 
is  born  a  dandy,  as  he  is  born  a  poet.  There 
are  heads  that  can't  wear  hats ;  there  are 
necks  than  can't  fit  cravats ;  there  are  jaws 
that  can't  fill  out  collars  —  (Willis  touched 
this  last  point  in  one  of  his  earlier  ambro- 
types,  if  I  remember  rightly)  ;  there  are 
tournares  nothing  can  humanize,  and  move 
ments  nothing  can  subdue  to  the  gracious 
suavity  or  elegant  languor  or  stately  seren 
ity  which  belong  to  different  styles  of  dan 
dyism. 

We  are  forming  an  aristocracy,  as  you 
may  observe,  in  this  country,  —  not  a  gratia- 
Dei,  nor  a  jure-dimno  one,  —  but  a  de-facto 
upper  stratum  of  being,  which  floats  ovei 
the  turbid  waves  of  common  life  like  the  iri 
descent  film  you  may  have  seen  spreading 
over  the  water  about  our  wharves,  —  very 
splendid,  though  its  origin  may  have  been 
tar,  tallow,  train-oil,  or  other  such  unctuous 
commodities.  I  say,  then,  we  are  forming 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  359 

an  aristocracy ;  and,  transitory  as  its  indi 
vidual  life  often  is,  it  maintains  itself,  toler 
ably,  as  a  whole.  Of  course  money  is  its 
corner-stone.  But  now  observe  this.  Money 
kept  for  two  or  three  generations  transforms 
a  race,  —  I  don't  mean  merely  in  manners 
and  hereditary  culture,  but  in  blood  and 
bone.  Money  buys  air  and  sunshine,  in 
which  children  grow  up  more  kindly,  of 
course,  than  in  close,  back  streets ;  it  buys 
country  places  to  give  them  happy  and 
x  healthy  summers,  good  nursing,  good  doc 
toring,  and  the  best  cuts  of  beef  and  mut 
ton.  When  the  spring  -  chickens  come  to 

market I  beg  your  pardon,  —  that  is 

not  what  I  was  going  to  speak  of.  As  the 
young  females  of  each  successive  season 
come  on,  the  finest  specimens  among  them, 
other  things  being  equal,  are  apt  to  attract 
those  who  can  afford  the  expensive  luxury 
of  beauty.  The  physical  character  of  the 
next  generation  rises  in  consequence.  It  is 
plain  that  certain  families  have  in  this  way 
acquired  an  elevated  type  of  face  and  figure, 
and  that  in  a  small  circle  of  city-connections 
one  may  sometimes  find  models  of  both  sexes 
which  one  of  the  rural  counties  would  find 
jfc  hard  to  match  from  all  its  townships  put 
together.  Because  there  is  a  good  deal  of 


360  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

running  down,  of  degeneration  and  waste  of 
life,  among  the  richer  classes,  you  must  not 
overlook  the  equally  obvious  fact  I  have  just 
spoken  of  —  which  in  one  or  two  genera 
tions  more  will  be,  I  think,  much  more  pa 
tent  than  just  now. 

The  weak  point  in  our  chryso-aristocracy 
is  the  same  I  have  alluded  to  in  connection 
with  cheap  dandyism.  Its  thorough  man 
hood,  its  high-caste  gallantry,  are  not  so 
manifest  as  the  plate-glass  of  its  windows 
and  the  more  or  less  legitimate  heraldry  of 
its  coach-panels.  It  is  very  curious  to  ob 
serve  of  how  small  account  military  folks 
are  held  among  our  Northern  people.  Our 
young  men  must  gild  their  spurs,  but  they 
need  not  win  them.  The  equal  division  of 
property  keeps  the  younger  sons  of  rich  peo 
ple  above  the  necessity  of  military  service. 
Thus  the  army  loses  an  element  of  refine 
ment,  and  the  moneyed  upper  class  forgets 
what  it  is  to  count  heroism  among  its  vir 
tues.  Still  I  don't  believe  in  any  aristoc 
racy  without  pluck  as  its  backbone.  Ours 
may  show  it  when  the  time  comes  if  it  ever 
does  come.1 

1  The  marble  tablets  and  memorial  windows  in  our 
churches  and  monumental  building's  bear  evidence  as  to 
whether  the  young  men  of  favored  social  position  proved 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  361 

—  These  United  States  furnish  the  great 
est  market  for  intellectual  green  fruit  of  all 
the  places  in  the  world.  I  think  so,  at  any 
rate.  The  demand  for  intellectual  labor  is 
so  enormous  and  the  market  so  far  from 
nice,  that  young  talent  is  apt  to  fare  like  un 
ripe  gooseberries,  —  get  plucked  to  make  a 
fool  of.  Think  of  a  country  which  buys 
eighty  thousand  copies  of  the  "  Proverbial 
Philosophy,"  while  the  author's  admiring 
countrymen  have  been  buying  twelve  thou 
sand  !  How  can  one  let  his  fruit  hang  in 
the  sun  until  it  gets  fully  ripe,  while  there 
are  eighty  thousand  such  hungry  mouths 
ready  to  swallow  it  and  proclaim  its  praises  ? 
Consequently,  there  never  was  such  a  col 
lection  of  crude  pippins  and  half -grown 
windfalls  as  our  native  literature  displays 
among  its  fruits.  There  are  literary  green 
groceries  at  every  corner,  which  will  buy 
anything,  from  a  button-pear  to  a  pine-ap 
ple.  It  takes  a  long  apprenticeship  to  train 
a  whole  people  to  reading  and  writing.  The 
temptation  of  money  and  fame  is  too  great 
for  young  people.  Do  I  not  remember  that 

glorious  moment  when  the  late  Mr. we 

won't  say  who,  —  editor  of  the we  won't 

worthy  of  their  privileges  or  not  during  the  four  years  of 
trial  which  left  us  a  nation. 


362  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

say  what,  offered  me  the  sum  of  fifty  cents 
per  double-columned  quarto  page  for  shak 
ing  my  young  boughs  over  his  foolscap 
apron  ?  Was  it  not  an  intoxicating  vision 
of  gold  and  glory  ?  I  should  doubtless  have 
revelled  in  its  wealth  and  splendor,  but  for 
learning  that  the  fifty  cents  was  to  be  con 
sidered  a  rhetorical  embellishment,  and  by 
no  means  a  literal  expression  of  past  fact  or 
present  intention. 

—  Beware  of  making  your  moral  staple 
consist  of  the  negative  virtues.     It  is  good 
to  abstain,  and  teach  others  to  abstain,  from 
all  that  is  sinful  or  hurtful.     But  making  a 
business  of  it  leads  to  emaciation  of  char 
acter,  unless  one  feeds  largely  also  on  the 
more  nutritious  diet  of  active   sympathetic 
benevolence. 

—  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  what  you 
are  saying,  —  spoke  up  the  angular  female 
in  black  bombazine. 

I  am  sorry  you  disbelieve  it,  Madam,  —  I 
said,  and  added  softly  to  my  next  neighbor, 
—  but  you  prove  it. 

The  young  fellow  sitting  near  me  winked  ; 
and  the  divinity-student  said,  in  an  under 
tone,  —  Optime  dictum. 

Your  talking  Latin,  —  said  I,  —  reminds 
me  of  an  odd  trick  of  one  of  my  old  tutors, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  363 

He  read  so  much  of  that  language,  that  his 
English  half  turned  into  it.  He  got  caught 
in  town,  one  hot  summer,  in  pretty  close 
quarters,  and  wrote,  or  began  to  write,  a 
series  of  city  pastorals.  Eclogues  he  called 
them,  and  meant  to  have  published  them 
by  subscription.  I  remember  some  of  his 
verses,  if  you  want  to  hear  them.  —  You, 
Sir  (addressing  myself  to  the  diviiiity-stu- 
dent),  and  all  such  as  have  been  through 
college,  or  what  is  the  same  thing,  received 
an  honorary  degree,  will  understand  them 
without  a  dictionary.  The  old  man  had  a 
great  deal  to  say  about  "  aBstivation,"  as  he 
called  it,  in  opposition,  as  one  might  say, 
to  hibernation.  Intramural  aestivation,  or 
town-life  in  summer,  he  would  say,  is  a  pe 
culiar  form  of  suspended  existence,  or  semi- 
asphyxia.  One  wakes  up  from  it  about  the 
beginning  of  the  last  week  in  September. 
This  is  what  I  remember  of  his  poem :  — 

,  ESTIVATION. 

An  Unpublished  Poem,  by  my  late  Latin  Tutor. 

In  candent  ire  the  solar  splendor  flames  ; 
The  foles,  languescent,  pend  from  arid  ram.es; 
His  humid  front  the  cive,  anheling1,  wipes, 
And  dreams  of  erring1  on  ventiferous  ripes. 

How  dulce  to  vive  occult  to  mortal  eyes, 
Dorm  on  the  herb  with  none  to  supervise, 


864  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Carp  the  suave  berries  from  the  crescent  vine, 
And  bibe  the  flow  from  longicaudate  kine ! 

To  me,  alas  !  no  verdurous  visions  come, 
Save  yon  exiguous  pool's  conferva-scum,  — 
No  concave  vast  repeats  the  tender  hue 
That  laves  my  milk- jug  with  celestial  blue  ! 

Me  wretched !     Let  me  curr  to  quercine  shades ! 
Effund  your  albid  haasts,  lactiferous  maids ! 
Oh,  might  I  vole  to  some  umbrageous  clump,  — 
Depart,  —  be  off,  —  excede,  —  evade,  —  erump  ! 

—  I  have  lived  by  the  sea-shore  and  by 
the  mountains.  —  No,  I  am  not  going  to  say 
which  is  best.  The  one  where  your  place 
is,  is  the  best  for  you.  But  this  difference 
there  is :  you  can  domesticate  mountains, 
but  the  sea  is /me  naturae.  You  may  have 
a  hut,  or  know  the  owner  of  one,  on  the 
mountain-side  ;  you  see  a  light  half-way  up 
its  ascent  in  the  evening,  and  you  know  there 
is  a  home,  and  you  might  share  it.  You 
have  noted  certain  trees,  perhaps ;  you  know 
the  particular  zone  where  the  hemlocks  look 
so  black  in  October,  when  the  maples  and 
beeches  have  faded.  All  its  reliefs  and  in 
taglios  have  electrotyped  themselves  in  the 
medallions  that  hang  round  the  walls  of 
your  memory's  chamber.  -7-  The  sea  remem 
bers  nothing.  It  is  feline.  It  licks  your 
feet,  • —  its  huge  flanks  purr  very  pleasantly 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  365 

for  you  ;  but  it  will  crack  your  bones  and 
eat  you,  for  all  that,  and  wipe  the  crimsoned 
foam  from  its  jaws  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened.  The  mountains  give  their  lost  chil 
dren  berries  and  water  ;  the  sea  mocks  their 
thirst  and  lets  them  die.  The  mountains 
have  a  grand,  stupid,  lovable  tranquillity ; 
the  sea  has  a  fascinating,  treacherous  intelli 
gence.  The  mountains  lie  about  like  huge 
ruminants,  their  broad  backs  awful  to  look 
upon,  but  safe  to  handle.  The  sea  smooths 
its  silver  scales  until  you  cannot  see  their 
joints,  —  but  their  shining  is  that  of  a  snake's 
belly,  after  all.  —  In  deeper  suggestiveness  I 
find  as  great  a  difference.  The  mountains 
dwarf  mankind  and  foreshorten  the  proces 
sion  of  its  long  generations.  The  sea  drowns 
out  humanity  and  time  ;  it  has  no  sympathy 
with  either ;  for  it  belongs  to  eternity,  and 
of  that  it  sings  its  monotonous  song  forever 
and  ever. 

Yet  I  should  love  to  have  a  little  box  by 
the  sea-shore.  I  should  love  to  gaze  out  on 
the  wild  feline  element  from  a  front  window 
of  my  own,  just  as  I  should  love  to  look  on 
a  caged  panther,  and  see  it  stretch  its  shin 
ing  length,  and  then  curl  over  and  lap  its 
smooth  sides,  and  by-and-by  begin  to  lash 
itself  into  rage  and  show  its  white  teeth  and 


366  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

spring  at  its  bars,  and  howl  the  cry  of  its 
mad,  but,  to  me,  harmless  fury.  —  And  then, 
—  to  look  at  it  with  that  inward  eye,  — •  who 
does  not  love  to  shuffle  off  time  and  its  con 
cerns,  at  intervals,  —  to  forget  who  is  Pres 
ident  and  who  is  Governor,  what  race  he 
belongs  to,  what  language  he  speaks,  which 
golden-headed  nail  of  the  firmament  his  par 
ticular  planetary  system  is  hung  upon,  and 
listen  to  the  great  liquid  metronome  as  it 
beats  its  solemn  measure,  steadily  swinging 
when  the  solo  or  duet  of  human  life  began, 
and  to  swing  just  as  steadily  after  the  hu 
man  chorus  has  died  out  and  man  is  a  fossil 
on  its  shores  ? 

—  What  should  decide  one,  in  choosing  a 
summer  residence  ?  —  Constitution,  first  of 
all.  How  much  snow  could  you  melt  in  an 
hour,  if  you  were  planted  in  a  hogshead  of 
it?  Comfort  is  essential  to  enjoyment.  All 
sensitive  people  should  remember  that  per 
sons  in  easy  circumstances  suffer  much  more 
from  cold  in  summer  —  that  is,  the  warm 
half  of  the  year  —  than  in  winter,  or  the 
other  half.  You  must  cut  your  climate  to 
your  constitution,  as  much  as  your  clothing 
to  your  shape.  After  this,  consult  your 
taste  and  convenience.  But  if  you  would  be 
happy  in  Berkshire,  you  must  carry  moun- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  367 

tains  in  your  brain  ;  and  if  you  would  enjoy 
Nahant,  you  must  have  an  ocean  in  your 
soul.  Nature  plays  at  dominos  with  you ; 
you  must  match  her  piece,  or  she  will  never 
give  it  up  to  you. 

—  The  schoolmistress  said,  in  a  rather 
mischievous  way,  that  she  was  afraid  some 
minds  or  souls  would  be  a  little  crowded,  if 
they  took  in  the  Kocky  Mountains  or  the 
Atlantic. 

Have  you  ever  read  the  little  book  called 
"The  Stars  and  the  Earth?"  — said  L  — 
Have  you  seen  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence  photographed  in  a  surface  that  a  fly's 
foot  would  cover?  The  forms  or  conditions 
of  Time  and  Space,  as  Kant  will  tell  you, 
are  nothing  in  themselves,  —  only  our  way 
of  looking  at  things.  You  are  right,  I  think, 
however,  in  recognizing  the  idea  of  Space  as 
being  quite  as  applicable  to  minds  as  to  the 
outer  world.  Every  man  of  reflection  is 
vaguely  conscious  of  an  imperfectly-defined 
circle  which  is  drawn  about  his  intellect. 
He  has  a  perfectly  clear  sense  that  the  frag 
ments  of  his  intellectual  circle  include  the 
curves  of  many  other  minds  of  which  he  is 
cognizant.  He  often  recognizes  these  as 
manifestly  concentric  with  his  own,  but  of 
less  radius.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we 


368  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

find  a  portion  of  an  arc  on  the  outside  of 
our  own,  we  say  it  intersects  ours,  but  are 
very  slow  to  confess  or  to  see  that  it  circum 
scribes  it.  Every  now  and  then  a  man's 
mind  is  stretched  by  a  new  idea  or  sensa 
tion,  and  never  shrinks  back  to  its  former 
dimensions.  After  looking  at  the  Alps,  I 
felt  that  my  mind  had  been  stretched  be 
yond  the  limits  of  elasticity,  and  fitted  so 
loosely  on  my  old  ideas  of  space  that  I  had 
to  spread  these  to  fit  it. 

—  If  I  thought  I  should  ever  see  the 
Alps  !  —  said  the  schoolmistress. 

Perhaps  you  will,  some  time  or  other,  — 
I  said. 

It  is  not  very  likely,  —  she  answered.  —  I 
have  had  one  or  two  opportunities,  but  I 
had  rather  be  anything  than  governess  in 
a  rich  family. 

[Proud,  too,  you  little  soft-voiced  woman ! 
Well,  I  can't  say  I  like  you  any  the  worse 
for  it.  How  long  will  school-keeping  take 
to  kill  you  ?  Is  it  possible  the  poor  thing 
works  with  her  needle,  too?  I  don't  like 
those  marks  on  the  side  of  her  forefinger. 

Tableau.  Chamouni.  Mont  Blanc  in  full 
view.  Figures  in  the  foreground ;  two  of 
them  standing  apart ;  one  of  them  a  gentle 
man  of  oh,  —  ah,  —  yes  !  the  other  a 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  369 

lady  in  a  white  cashmere,  leaning  on  his 
shoulder.  —  The  ingenuous  reader  will  un 
derstand  that  this  was  an  internal,  private, 
personal,  subjective  diorama,  seen  for  one 
instant  on  the  background  of  my  own  con 
sciousness,  and  abolished  into  black  nonen 
tity  by  the  first  question  which  recalled  me 
to  actual  life,  as  suddenly  as  if  one  of  those 
iron  shop-blinds  (which  I  always  pass  at 
dusk  with  a  shiver,  expecting  to  stumble 
over  some  poor  but  honest  shop-boy's  head, 
just  taken  off  by  its  sudden  and  unexpected 
descent,  and  left  outside  upon  the  sidewalk) 
had  come  down  in  front  of  it  "  by  the  run."] 
—  Should  you  like  to  hear  what  moderate 
wishes  life  brings  one  to  at  last  ?  I  used  to 
be  very  ambitious,  —  wasteful,  extravagant, 
and  luxurious  in  all  my  fancies.  Read  too 
much  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights."  Must  have 
the  lamp,  —  could  n't  do  without  the  ring. 
Exercise  every  morning  on  the  brazen  horse. 
Plump  down  into  castles  as  full  of  little 
milk-white  princesses  as  a  nest  is  of  young 
sparrows.  All  love  me  dearly  at  once.  — 
Charming  idea  of  life,  but  too  high-colored 
for  the  reality.  I  have  out-grown  all  this ; 
my  tastes  have  become  exceedingly  primi 
tive,  —  almost,  perhaps,  ascetic.  We  carry 
happiness  into  our  condition,  but  must  not 


370  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

hope  to  find  it  there.  I  think  you  will  be 
willing  to  hear  some  lines  which  embody  the 
subdued  and  limited  desires  of  my  maturity. 

CONTENTMENT. 

"Man  wants  but  little  here  below." 

Little  I  ask ;  my  wants  are  few ; 

I  only  wish  a  hut  of  stone, 
(A  very  plain  brown  stone  will  do,) 
That  I  may  call  my  own  ;  — 
And  close  at  hand  is  such  a  one, 
In  yonder  street  that  fronts  the  sun. 

Plain  food  is  quite  enough  for  me ; 

Three  courses  are  as  good  as  ten ;  — 
If  Nature  can  subsist  on  three, 

Thank  Heaven  for  three.     Amen ! 
I  always  thought  cold  victual  nice  ;  — 
My  choice  would  be  vanilla-ice. 

I  care  not  much  for  gold  or  land  ;  — 

Give  me  a  mortgage  here  and  there,  — 
Some  good  bank-stock,  —  some  note  of  hand, 

Or  trifling  railroad  share  ;  — 
I  only  ask  that  Fortune  send 
A  little  more  than  I  shall  spend. 

Honors  are  silly  toys,  I  know, 

And  titles  are  but  empty  names  ;  — 
I  would,  perhaps,  be  Plenipo,  — 

But  only  near  St.  James ;  — 
I  'm  very  sure  I  should  not  care 
To  fill  our  Gubernator's  chair. 

Jewels  are  baubles  ;   't  is  a  sin 

To  care  for  such  unfruitful  things ;  — • 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  371 

One  good-sized  diamond  in  a  pin,  — 
Some,  not  so  large,  in  rings,  — 
A  ruby  and  a  pearl,  or  so, 
Will  do  for  me  ;  —  I  laugh  at  show. 

My  dame  should  dress  in  cheap  attire ; 

(Good,  heavy  silks  are  never  dear  ;)-* 
I  own  perhaps  I  might  desire 

Some  shawls  of  true  cashmere,— 
Some  marrowy  crapes  of  China  silk, 
Like  wrinkled  skins  on  scalded  milk. 

I  would  not  have  the  horse  I  drive 

So  fast  that  folks  must  stop  and  stare : 
An  easy  gait  —  two,  forty-five  — 

Suits  me  ;  I  do  not  care ;  — 
Perhaps,  for  just  a  single  spurt, 
Some  seconds  less  would  do  no  hurt. 

Of  pictures,  I  should  like  to  own 

Titians  and  Raphaels  three  or  four.  — 
I  love  so  much  their  style  and  tone,  — 

One  Turner,  and  no  more,  — 
(A  landscape,  —  f  oregrotind  golden  dirt,  — • 
The  sunshine  painted  with  a  squirt.)  — 

Of  books  but  few,  —  some  fifty  score 
For  daily  use,  and  bound  for  wear ; 
The  rest  upon  an  upper  floor  ;  — 

Some  little  luxury  there 
Of  red  morocco's  gilded  gleam, 
And  vellum  rich  as  country  cream. 

Busts,  cameos,  gems,  —  such  things  as  these, 

Which  others  often  show  for  pride, 
1  value  for  their  power  to  please. 

And  selfish  churls  deride  ;  — 


372  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

One  Stradivarius,  I  confess, 

Two  Meerschaums,  I  would  fain  possess. 

Wealth's  wasteful  tricks  I  will  not  learn, 
Nor  ape  the  glittering-  upstart  fool  ;  — 
Shall  not  carved  tables  serve  my  turn, 

But  all  must  be  of  buhl  ? 
Give  grasping  pomp  its  double  share,  — 
I  ask  but  one  recumbent  chair. 

Thus  h.umble  let  me  live  and  die, 

Nor  long  for  Midas'  golden  touch, 
If  Heaven  more  generous  gifts  deny, 
I  shall  not  miss  them  much  — 
Too  grateful  for  the  blessing  lent 
Of  simple  tastes  and  mind  content ! 


MY  LAST  WALK  WITH  THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

(A  Parenthesis.} 

I  can't  say  just  how  many  walks  she  and 
I  had  taken  together  before  this  one.  I 
found  the  effect  of  going  out  every  morn 
ing  was  decidedly  favorable  on  her  health. 
Two  pleasing  dimples,  the  places  for  which 
were  just  marked  when  she  came,  played, 
shadowy,  in  her  freshening  cheeks  when  she 
smiled  and  nodded  good-morning  to  me  from 
the  schoolhouse-steps. 

I  am  afraid  I  did  the  greater  part  of  the 
talking.  At  any  rate,  if  I  should  try  to  re 
port  all  that  I  said  during  the  first  half- 


THE   BREAKFAST-TABLE.  373 

dozen  walks  we  took  together,  I  fear  that  I 
might  receive  a  gentle  hint  from  my  friends 
the  publishers,  that  a  separate  volume,  at  my 
own  risk  and  expense,  would  be  the  proper 
method  of  bringing  them  before  the  public. 
—  I  would  have  a  woman  as  true  as  Death. 
At  the  first  real  lie  which  works  from  the 
heart  outward,  she  should  be  tenderly  chlo 
roformed  into  a  better  world,  where  she  can 
have  an  angel  for  a  governess,  and  feed  on 
strange  fruits  which  will  make  her  all  over 
again,  even  to  her  bones  and  marrow.  — 
"Whether  gifted  with  the  accident  of  beauty 
or  not,  she  should  have  been  moulded  in  the 
rose-red  clay  of  Love,  before  the  breath  of 
life  made  a  moving  mortal  of  her.  Love- 
capacity  is  a  congenital  endowment ;  and  I 
think,  after  a  while,  one  gets  to  know  the 
warm-hued  natures  it  belongs  to  from  the 
pretty  pipe  -  clay  counterfeits  of  them.  — 
Proud  she  may  be,  in  the  sense  of  respecting 
herself  ;  but  pride,  in  the  sense  of  contemn 
ing  others  less  gifted  than  herself,  deserves 
the  two  lowest  circles  of  a  vulgar  woman's 
Inferno,  where  the  punishments  are  Small 
pox  and  Bankruptcy.  —  She  who  nips  off  the 
end  of  a  brittle  courtesy,  as  one  breaks  the 
tip  of  an  icicle,  to  bestow  upon  those  whom 
she  ought  cordially  and  kindly  to  recognize, 


374  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

proclaims  the  fact  that  she  comes  not  merely 
of  low  blood,  but  of  bad  blood.  Conscious 
ness  of  unquestioned  position  makes  people 
gracious  in  proper  measure  to  all ;  but  if  a 
woman  put  on  airs  with  her  real  equals,  she 
has  something  about  herself  or  her  family 
she  is  ashamed  of,  or  ought  to  be.  Middle, 
and  more  than  middle  -  aged  people,  who 
know  family  histories,  generally  see  through 
it.  An  official  of  standing  was  rude  to  me 
once.  Oh,  that  is  the  maternal  grandfather, 
—  said  a  wise  old  friend  to  me,  —  he  was 
a  boor.  —  Better  too  few  words,  from  the 
woman  we  love,  than  too  many :  while  she 
is  silent,  Nature  is  working  for  her  ;  while 
she  talks,  she  is  working  for  herself.  —  Love 
is  sparingly  soluble  in  the  words  of  men ; 
therefore  they  speak  much  of  it ;  but  one 
syllable  of  woman's  speech  can  dissolve  more 
of  it  than  a  man's  heart  can  hold. 

—  Whether  I  said  any  or  all  of  these  things 
to  the  schoolmistress,  or  not,  —  whether  I 
stole  them  out  of  Lord  Bacon,  —  whether 
I  cribbed  them  from  Balzac,  —  whether  I 
dipped  them  from  the  ocean  of  Tupperian 
wisdom,  —  or  whether  I  have  just  found 
them  in  my  head,  laid  there  by  that  solemn 
fowl,  Experience  (who,  according  to  my  ob 
servation,  cackles  oftener  than  she  drops 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  375 

real  live  eggs),  I  cannot  say.  Wise  men 
have  said  more  foolish  things,  —  and  foolish 
men,  I  don't  doubt,  have  said  as  wise  things. 
Anyhow,  the  schoolmistress  and  I  had  pleas 
ant  walks  and  long  talks,  all  of  which  I  do 
not  feel  bound  to  feport. 

—  You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  Ma'am.  —  I 
don't  doubt  you  would  like  to  know  all  I 
said  to  the  schoolmistress.  —  I  sha'n't  do  it ; 

—  I  had  rather  get  the  publishers  to  return 
the  money  you  have  invested  in  these  pages. 
Besides,  I  have  forgotten  a  good  deal  of  it. 
I  shall  tell  only  what  I  like  of  what  I  re 
member. 

—  My  idea  was,  in  the   first  place,  to 
search  out  the  picturesque  spots  which  the 
city  affords  a  sight  of,  to  those  who  have 
eyes.     I  know  a  good  many,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  look  at  them  in  company  with 
my  young  friend.     There  were  the  shrubs 
and   flowers   in   the  Franklin  -  Place  front- 
yards  or  borders  :   Commerce  is  just  putting 
his  granite  foot  upon  them.    Then  there  are 
certain  small  seraglio -gardens,   into  which 
one  can  get  a  peep  through  the  crevices  of 
high  fences,  —  one  in  Myrtle  Street,  or  at 
the  back  of  it,  —  here  and  there  one  at  the 
North  and  South  ends.    Then  the  great  elms 
in  Essex  Street.     Then  the   stately  horse- 


376  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

chestnuts  in  that  vacant  lot  in  Chambers 
Street,  which  hold  their  outspread  hands 
over  your  head  (as  I  said  in  my  poem  the 
other  day),  and  look  as  if  they  were  whis 
pering,  "May  grace,  mercy,  and  peace  be 
with  you  !  "  —  and  the  rest  of  that  benedic 
tion.  Nay,  there  are  certain  patches  of 
ground,  which,  having  lain  neglected  for  a 
time,  Nature,  who  always  has  her  pockets 
full  of  seeds,  and  holes  in  all  her  pockets, 
has  covered  with  hungry  plebeian  growths, 
which  fight  for  life  with  each  other,  until 
some  of  them  get  broad-leaved  and  succu 
lent,  and  you  have  a  coarse  vegetable  tap 
estry  which  Raphael  would  not  have  dis 
dained  to  spread  over  the  foreground  of  his 
masterpiece.  The  Professor  pretends  that 
he  found  such  a  one  in  Charles  Street, 
which,  in  its  dare-devil  impudence  of  rough- 
and-tumble  vegetation,  beat  the  pretty-be 
haved  flower-beds  of  the  Public  Garden  as 
ignominiously  as  a  group  of  young  tatter 
demalions  playing  pitch-and-toss  beats  a  row 
of  Sunday-school-boys  with  their  teacher  at 
their  head. 

But  then  the  Professor  has  one  of  his  bur 
rows  in  that  region,  and  puts  everything  in 
high  colors  relating  to  it.  That  is  his  way 
about  everything.  —  I  hold  any  man  cheap, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  377 

—  he  said,  —  of  whom  nothing  stronger  can 
be  uttered  than  that  all  his  geese  are  swans. 
-  How  is  that,  Professor  ?  —  said  I ;  —  I 
should  have  set  you  down  for  one  of  that 
sort.  —  Sir,  —  said  he,  —  I  am  proud  to  say, 
that  Nature  has  so  far  enriched  me,  that  I 
cannot  own  so  much  as  a  duck  without  see 
ing  in  it  as  pretty  a  swan  as  ever  swam  the 
basin  in  the  garden  of  the  Luxembourg. 
And  the  Professor  showed  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  devoutly,  like  one  returning  thanks 
after  a  dinner  of  many  courses. 

I  don't  know  anything  sweeter  than  this 
leaking  in  of  Nature  through  all  the  cracks 
in  the  walls  and  floors  of  cities.  You  heap 
up  a  million  tons  of  hewn  rocks  on  a  square 
mile  or  two  of  earth  which  was  green  once. 
The  trees  look  down  from  the  hill-sides  and 
ask  each  other,  as  they  stand  on  tiptoe,  — 
"  What  are  these  people  about  ?  "  And  the 
small  herbs  at  their  feet  look  up  and  whis 
per  back,  —  "  We  will  go  and  see."  So  the 
small  herbs  pack  themselves  up  in  the  least 
possible  bundles,  and  wait  until  the  wind 
steals  to  them  at  night  and  whispers, — 
"  Come  with  me."  Then  they  go  softly  with 
it  into  the  great  city,  —  one  to  a  cleft  in  the 
pavement,  one  to  a  spout  on  the  roof,  one  to 
a  seam  in  the  marbles  over  a  rich  gentle- 


378  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

man's  bones,  and  one  to  the  grave  without  a 
stone  where  nothing  but  a  man  is  buried,  — 
and  there  they  grow,  looking  down  on  the 
generations  of  men  from  mouldy  roofs,  look 
ing  up  from  between  the  less-trodden  pave 
ments,  looking  out  through  iron  cemetery- 
railings.  Listen  to  them,  when  there  is 
only  a  light  breath  stirring,  and  you  will 
hear  them  saying  to  each  other,  —  "  Wait 
awhile ! "  The  words  run  along  the  tele 
graph  of  those  narrow  green  lines  that  bor 
der  the  roads  leading  from  the  city,  until 
they  reach  the  slope  of  the  hills,  and  the 
trees  repeat  in  low  murmurs  to  each  other, 
—  "  Wait  awhile  !  "  By-and-by  the  flow  of 
life  in  the  streets  ebbs,  and  the  old  leafy  in 
habitants  —  the  smaller  tribes  always  in 
front  —  saunter  in,  one  by  one,  very  care 
less  seemingly,  but  very  tenacious,  until 
they  swarm  so  that  the  great  stones  gape 
from  each  other  with  the  crowding  of  their 
roots,  and  the  feldspar  begins  to  be  picked 
out  of  the  granite  to  find  them  food.  At 
last  the  trees  take  up  their  solemn  line  of 
march,  and  never  rest  until  they  have  en 
camped  in  the  market-place.  Wait  long 
enough  and  you  will  find  an  old  doting  oak 
hugging  a  huge  worn  block  in  its  yellow  un 
derground  arms  ;  that  was  the  corner-stone 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  379 

of  the  State-House.  Oh,  so  patient  she  is, 
this  imperturbable  Nature ! 

—  Let  us  cry !  — 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my 
walks  and  talks  with  the  schoolmistress.  I 
did  not  say  that  I  would  not  tell  you  some 
thing  about  them.  Let  me  alone,  and  I 
shall  talk  to  you  more  than  I  ought  to,  prob 
ably.  We  never  tell  our  secrets  to  people 
that  pump  for  them. 

Books  we  talked  about,  and  education. 
It  was  her  duty  to  know  something  of  these, 
and  of  course  she  did.  Perhaps  I  was  some 
what  more  learned  than  she,  but  I  found 
that  the  difference  between  her  reading  and 
mine  was  like  that  of  a  man's  and  a  woman's 
dusting  a  library.  The  man  flaps  about 
with  a  bunch  of  feathers ;  the  woman  goes 
to  work  softly  with  a  cloth.  She  does  not 
raise  half  the  dust,  nor  fill  her  own  eyes  and 
mouth  with  it,  —  but  she  goes  into  all  the 
corners  and  attends  to  the  leaves  as  much 
as  to  the  covers.  —  Books  are  the  negative 
pictures  of  thought,  and  the  more  sensitive 
the  mind  that  receives  their  images,  the 
more  nicely  the  finest  lines  are  reproduced. 
A  woman  (of  the  right  kind),  reading  after 
a  man,  follows  him  as  Ruth  followed  the 
reapers  of  Boaz,  and  her  gleanings  are  often 
the  finest  of  the  wheat. 


380  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

But  it  was  in  talking  of  Life  that  we 
came  most  nearly  together.  I  thought  I 
knew  something  about  that,  —  that  I  could 
speak  or  write  about  it  somewhat  to  the 
purpose. 

To  take  up  this  fluid  earthly  being  of 
ours  as  a  sponge  sucks  up  water,  —  to  be 
steeped  and  soaked  in  its  realities  as  a  hide 
fills  its  pores  lying  seven  years  in  a  tan-pit, 
—  to  have  winnowed  every  wave  of  it  as  a 
mill-wheel  works  up  the  stream  that  runs 
through  the  flume  upon  its  float-boards,  — 
to  have  curled  up  in  the  keenest  spasms  and 
flattened  out  in  the  laxest  languors  of  this 
breathing-sickness,  which  keeps  certain  par 
cels  of  matter  uneasy  for  three  or  four  score 
years,  —  to  have  fought  all  the  devils  and 
clasped  all  the  angels  of  its  delirium,  —  and 
then,  just  at  the  point  when  the  white-hot 
passions  have  cooled  down  to  cherry-red, 
plunge  our  experience  into  the  ice-cold 
stream  of  some  human  language  or  other, 
one  might  think  would  end  in  a  rhapsody 
with  something  of  spring  and  temper  in  it. 
All  this  I  thought  my  power  and  province. 

The  schoolmistress  had  tried  life,  too. 
Once  in  a  while  one  meets  with  a  single  soul 
greater  than  all  the  living  pageant  which 
passes  before  it.  As  the  pale  astronomer 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  381 

sits  in  his  study  with  sunken  eyes  and  thin 
fingers,  and  weighs  Uranus  or  Neptune  as 
in  a  balance,  so  there  are  meek,  slight  wo 
men  who  have  weighed  all  which  this  plan 
etary  life  can  offer,  and  hold  it  like  a  bau 
ble  in  the  palm  of  their  slender  hands.  This 
was  one  of  them.  Fortune  had  left  her,  sor 
row  had  baptized  her ;  the  routine  of  labor 
and  the  loneliness  of  almost  friendless  city- 
life  were  before  her.  Yet,  as  I  looked  upon 
her  tranquil  face,  gradually  regaining  a 
cheerfulness  which  was  often  sprightly,  as 
she  became  interested  in  the  various  matters 
we  talked  about  and  places  we  visited,  I  saw 
that  eye  and  lip  and  every  shifting  linea 
ment  were  made  for  love,  —  unconscious  of 
their  sweet  office  as  yet,  and  meeting  the 
cold  aspect  of  Duty  with  the  natural  graces 
which  were  meant  for  the  reward  of  noth 
ing  less  than  the  Great  Passion. 

—  I  never  addressed  one  word  of  love  to 
the  schoolmistress  in  the  course  of  these 
pleasant  walks.  It  seemed  to  me  that  we 
talked  of  everything  but  love  on  that  partic 
ular  morning.  There  was,  perhaps,  a  little 
more  timidity  and  hesitancy  on  my  part 
than  I  have  commonly  shown  among  our 
people  at  the  boarding-house.  In  fact,  I 
considered  myself  the  master  at  the  break- 


382  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

fast-table ;  but,  somehow,  I  could  not  com 
mand  myself  just  then  so  well  as  usual. 
The  truth  is,  I  had  secured  a  passage  to 
Liverpool  in  the  steamer  which  was  to  leave 
at  noon,  —  with  the  condition,  however,  of 
being  released  in  case  circumstances  oc 
curred  to  detain  me.  The  schoolmistress 
knew  nothing  about  all  this,  of  course,  as 
yet. 

It  was  on  the  Common  that  we  were  walk 
ing.  The  mall,  or  boulevard  of  our  Com 
mon,  you  know,  has  various  branches  leading 
from  it  in  different  directions.  One  of  these 
runs  down  from  opposite  Joy  Street  south 
ward  across  the  whole  length  of  the  Common 
to  Boylston  Street.  We  called  it  the  long 
path,  and  were  fond  of  it. 

I  felt  very  weak  indeed  (though  of  a  tol 
erably  robust  habit)  as  we  came  opposite 
the  head  of  this  path  on  that  morning.  I 
think  I  tried  to  speak  twice  without  making 
myself  distinctly  audible.  At  last  I  got  out 
the  question,  —  Will  you  take  the  long  path 
with  me  ?  —  Certainly,  —  said  the  school 
mistress,  —  with  much  pleasure.  —  Think, 
—  I  said,  —  before  you  answer  :  if  you  take 
the  long  path  with  me  now,  I  shall  interpret 
it  that  we  are  to  part  no  more  !  —  The  school 
mistress  stepped  back  with  a  sudden  move 
ment,  as  if  an  arrow  had  struck  her. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  383 

One  of  the  long  granite  blocks  used  as 
seats  was  hard  by,  —  the  one  you  may  still 
see  close  by  the  Gingko-tree.  —  Pray,  sit 
down,  —  I  said.  —  No,  no,  she  answered, 
softly,  —  I  will  walk  the  long  path  with 
you! 

—  The  old  gentleman  who  sits  opposite 
met  us  walking,  arm  in  arm,  about  the  mid 
dle  of  the  long  path,  and  said,  very  charm 
ingly,  —  "  Good-morning,  my  dears !  " 


XII. 

[I  DID  not  think  it  probable  that  I  should 
have  a  great  many  more  talks  with  our  com 
pany,  and  therefore  I  was  anxious  to  get  as 
much  as  I  could  into  every  conversation. 
That  is  the  reason  why  you  will  find  some 
odd,  miscellaneous  facts  here,  which  I  wished 
to  tell  at  least  once,  as  I  should  not  have  a 
chance  to  tell  them  habitually,  at  our  break 
fast-table.  —  We  're  very  free  and  easy,  you 
know;  we  don't  read  what  we  don't  like. 
Our  parish  is  so  large,  one  can't  pretend  to 
preach  to  all  the  pews  at  once.  One  can't 
be  all  the  time  trying  to  do  the  best  of  one's 
best ;  if  a  company  works  a  steam  fire-en 
gine,  the  firemen  need  n't  be  straining  them- 


384  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

selves  all  day  to  squirt  over  the  top  of  the 
flagstaff.  Let  them  wash  some  of  those 
lower-story  windows  a  little.  Besides,  there 
is  no  use  in  our  quarrelling  now,  as  you  will 
find  out  when  you  get  through  this  paper.] 

—  Travel,  according  to  my  experience, 
does  not  exactly  correspond  to  the  idea  one 
gets  of  it  out  of  most  books  of  travels.  I 
am  thinking  of  travel  as  it  was  when  I 
made  the  Grand  Tour,  especially  in  Italy. 
Memory  is  a  net ;  one  finds  it  full  of  fish 
when  he  takes  it  from  the  brook ;  but  a 
dozen  miles  of  water  have  run  through  it 
without  sticking.  I  can  prove  some  facts 
about  travelling  by  a  story  or  two.  There 
are  certain  principles  to  be  assumed,  —  such 
as  these  :  —  He  who  is  carried  by  horses 
must  deal  with  rogues.  —  To  -  day's  dinner 
subtends  a  larger  visual  angle  than  yester 
day's  revolution.  A  mote  in  my  eye  is  big 
ger  to  me  than  the  biggest  of  Dr.  Gould's 
private  planets.  —  Every  traveller  is  a  self- 
taught  entomologist.  —  Old  jokes  are  dyn 
amometers  of  mental  tension  ;  an  old  joke 
tells  better  among  friends  travelling  than  at 
home,  —  which  shows  that  their  minds  are 
in  a  state  of  diminished,  rather  than  in 
creased,  vitality.  There  was  a  story  about 
"  strahps  to  your  pahnts,"  which  was  vastly 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  385 

funny  to  us  fellows,  —  on  the  road  from 
Milan  to  Venice.  —  Ccdum,  non  animum,  — 
travellers  change  their  guineas,  but  not  their 
characters.  The  bore  is  the  same,  eating 
dates  under  the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  as  over 
a  plate  of  baked  beans  in  Beacon  Street.  — 
Parties  of  travellers  have  a  morbid  instinct 
for  "  establishing  raws  "  upon  each  other.  — 
A  man  shall  sit  down  with  his  friend  at  the 
foot  of  the  Great  Pyramid  and  they  will 
take  up  the  question  they  had  been  talking 
about  under  "  the  great  elm,"  and  forget  all 
about  Egypt.  When  I  was  crossing  the  Po, 
we  were  all  fighting  about  the  propriety  of 
one  fellow's  telling  another  that  his  argu 
ment  was  absurd ;  one  maintaining  it  to  be 
a  perfectly  admissible  logical  term,  as  proved 
by  the  phrase  "  reductio  ad  absurdum ;  " 
the  rest  badgering  him  as  a  conversational 
bully.  Mighty  little  we  troubled  ourselves 
for  Padus,  the  Po,  "  a  river  broader  and 
more  rapid  than  the  Rhone,"  and  the  times 
when  Hannibal  led  his  grim  Africans  to  its 
banks,  and  his  elephants  thrust  their  trunks 
into  the  yellow  waters  over  which  that  pen 
dulum  ferry-boat  was  swinging  back  and 
forward  every  ten  minutes  ! 

—  Here  are  some  of  those  reminiscences, 
with  morals  prefixed,  cr  annexed,  or  implied^ 


386  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Lively  emotions  very  commonly  do  not 
strike  us  full  in  front,  but  obliquely  from 
the  side ;  a  scene  or  incident  in  undress 
often  affects  us  more  than  one  in  full  cos 
tume. 

"  Is  this  the  mighty  ocean  ?  —  Is  this  all  ?  " 

says  the  Princess  in  Gebir.  The  rush  that 
should  have  flooded  my  soul  in  the  Coliseum 
did  not  come.  But  walking  one  day  in  the 
fields  about  the  city,  I  stumbled  over  a 
fragment  of  broken  masonry,  and  lo !  the 
World's  Mistress  in  her  stone  girdle  —  alta 
mcenia  Romce  —  rose  before  me  and  whit 
ened  my  cheek  with  her  pale  shadow  as 
never  before  or  since. 

1  used  very  often,  when  coming  home 
from  my  morning's  work  at  one  of  the  pub 
lic  institutions  of  Paris,  to  stop  in  at  the 
dear  old  church  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont. 
The  tomb  of  St.  Genevieve,  surrounded  by 
burning  candles  and  votive  tablets,  was 
there  ;  the  mural  tablet  of  Jacobus  Benig- 
nus  Winsiow  was  there ;  there  was  a  noble 
organ  with  carved  figures ;  the  pulpit  was 
borne  on  the  oaken  shoulders  of  a  stooping 
Samson  ;  and  there  was  a  marvellous  stair 
case  like  a  coil  of  lace.  These  things  I 
mention  from  memory,  but  not  all  of  them 
together  impressed  me  so  much  as  an  in- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  387 

scription  on  a  small  slab  of  marble  fixed  in 
one  of  the  walls.  It  told  how  this  church 
of  St.  Stephen  was  repaired  and  beautified 
in  the  year  16**,  and  how,  during  the  cele 
bration  of  its  reopening,  two  girls  of  the 
parish  {files  de  la  paroisse)  fell  from  the 
gallery,  carrying  a  part  of  the  balustrade 
with  them,  to  the  pavement,  but  by  a  mir 
acle  escaped  uninjured.  Two  young  girls 
nameless,  but  real  presences  to  my  imagina 
tion,  as  much  as  when  they  came  fluttering 
down  on  the  tiles  with  a  cry  that  outscreamed 
the  sharpest  treble  in  the  Te  Deum.  (Look 
at  Carlyle's  article  on  Boswell,  and  see  how 
he  speaks  of  the  poor  young  woman  John 
son  talked  with  in  the  streets  one  evening.) 
All  the  crowd  gone  but  these  two  "  filles  de 
la  paroisse,"  —  gone  as  utterly  as  the  dresses 
they  wore,  as  the  shoes  that  were  on  their 
feet,  as  the  bread  and  meat  that  were  in  the 
market  on  that  day. 

Not  the  great  historical  events,  but  the 
personal  incidents  which  call  up  single  sharp 
pictures  of  some  human  being  in  its  pang  or 
struggle,  reach  us  most  nearly.  I  remember 
the  platform  at  Berne,  over  the  parapet  of 
which  Theobald  Weinzapfli's  restive  horse 
sprung  with  him  and  landed  him  more  than 
a  hundred  feet  beneath  in  the  lower  town, 


388  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

not  dead,  but  sorely  broken,  and  no  longer  a 
wild  youth,  but  God's  servant  from  that  day 
forward.  I  have  forgotten  the  famous  bears, 
and  all  else.  —  I  remember  the  Percy  lion 
on  the  bridge  over  the  little  river  at  Aln- 
wick,  —  the  leaden  lion  with  his  tail  stretched 
out  straight  like  a  pump-handle,  —  and  why  ? 
Because  of  the  story  of  the  village  boy  who 
must  fain  bestride  the  leaden  tail,  standing 
out  over  the  water,  —  which  breaking,  he 
dropped  into  the  stream  far  below,  and  was 
taken  out  an  idiot  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Arrow-heads  must  be  brought  to  a  sharp 
point  and  the  guillotine-axe  must  have  a 
slanting  edge.  Something  intensely  human, 
narrow,  and  definite  pierces  to  the  seat  of 
our  sensibilities  more  readily  than  huge  oc 
currences  and  catastrophes.  A  nail  will 
pick  a  lock  that  defies  hatchet  and  hammer. 
"The  Royal  George"  went  down  with  all 
her  crew,  and  Cowper  wrote  an  exquisitely 
simple  poem  about  it ;  but  the  leaf  which 
holds  it  is  smooth,  while  that  which  bears 
the  lines  on  his  mother's  portrait  is  blistered 
with  tears. 

My  telling  these  recollections  sets  me 
thinking  of  others  of  the  same  kind  which 

O 

strike  the  imagination,  especially  when  one 
is  still  young.  You  remember  the  monu< 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  389 

ment  in  Devizes  market  to  the  woman  struck 
dead  with  a  lie  in  her  mouth.  I  never  saw 
that,  ,but  it  is  in  the  books.  Here  is  one 
I  never  heard  mentioned ;  —  if  any  of  the 
"  Note  and  Query  "  tribe  can  tell  the  story, 
I  hope  they  will.  Where  is  this  monument  ? 
I  was  riding  on  an  English  stage-coach  when 
we  passed  a  handsome  marble  column  (as  I 
remember  it)  of  considerable  size  and  preten 
sions.  —  What  is  that  ?  —  I  said.  —  That,  — 
answered  the  coachman,  —  is  the  hangman's 
pillar.1  Then  he  told  me  how  a  man  went 

1  It  would  have  been  well  if  I  had  consulted  Notes 
and  Queries  before  telling1  this  story.  A  year  or  two  be 
fore  the  time  when  I  was  writing1,  a  number  of  commu 
nications  relating-  to  the  subject  were  sent  to  that  period 
ical.  A  correspondent  called  my  attention  to  them,  and 
other  correspondents,  — Miss  H.  P.,  of  London,  the  libra 
rian  of  a  public  institution  at  Dublin,  a  young  gentle 
man,  writing  from  Cornwall,  and  others,  whose  residences 
I  do  not  now  remember,  wrote  to  me,  mentioning  stories 
like  that  which  the  coachman  told  me.  The  self -repro 
duction  of  the  legend  wherever  there  was  a  stone  to 
hang  it  on,  seems  to  me  so  interesting,  as  bearing  on  the 
philosophy  of  tradition,  that  I  subjoin  a  number  of  in 
stances  from  Notes  and  Queries. 

In  the  first  the  thief's  booty  was  a  deer  and  not  a 
sheep,  as  the  common  account  made  it.  The  incident 
not  only  involved  a  more  distinguished  quadruped,  but 
also  was  found  worthy  of  being  commemorated  in  rhyme. 

N.  $•  Q.  for  January  5,  1856. 
"  In  Potter's   Churnivood,   p.    179,   a  '  Legend  of  the 


390  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

out   one   night,    many   years   ago,  to   steal 
sheep.      He   caught   one,   tied   its   legs  to- 

Hangman's  Stone,'  in  verse,  is  given,  in  which  the  death 
of  John  of  Oxley  is  described. 

'  One  shaft  he  drew  on  his  well-tried  yew, 
And  a  gallant  hart  lay  dead  ; 
He  tied  its  legs,  and  he  hoisted  his  prize, 
And  he  toiled  over  Lubcloud  brow. 
He  reached  the  tall  stone,  standing  out  and  alone, 
Standing  then  as  it  standeth  now  ; 
With  his  back  to  the  stone  he  rested  his  load, 
And  he  chuckled  with  glee  to  think 
That  the  rest  of  his  way  on  the  down  hill  lay 
And  his  wife  would  have  spiced  the  strong  drink. 

A  swineherd  was  passing  o'er  great  Toe's  Head, 

When  he  noticed  a  motionless  man  ; 

He  shouted  in  vain  —  no  reply  could  he  gain  — 

So  down  to  the  gray  stone  he  ran. 

All  was  clear.     There  was  Oxley  on  one  side  the  stone, 

On  the  other  the  down-hanging  deer  ; 

The  burden  had  slipped,  and  his  neck  it  had  nipped  ; 

He  was  hanged  by  his  prize  —  all  was  clear.' 

"'When  I  was  a  youth,'  the  same  writer  continues. 
1  there  were  two  fields  in  the  parish  of  Foremark,  Derby 
shire,  called  the  Great  and  the  Little  Hangman's  Stone. 
In  the  former  there  was  a  stone,  five  or  six  feet  high, 
with  an  indentation  running1  across  the  top  of  it,  and 
there  was  a  legend  that  a  sheep-stealer,  once  upon  a  time 
having  stolen  a  sheep,  had  placed  it  on  the  top  of  the 
stone,  and  that  it  had  slipped  off  and  strangled  him  with 
the  rope  with  which  it  was  tied,  and  that  the  indentation 
was  made  by  the  friction  of  the  rope  caused  by  the  strug 
gles  of  the  dying  man.'  —  C  S.  GREAVES." 

N.  fr  Q.,  April  5,  1856. 

SIMILAR  LEGENDS  AT  DIFFERENT  PLACES.  —  "At 
the  end  of  Lamber  Moor,  on  the  roadside  between  Haver- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  391 

gether,  passed  the  rope  over  his  head,  and 
started  for  home.  In  climbing  a  fence,  the 

ford  West  and  Little  Haven,  in  the  County  of  Pembroke, 
there  is  a  stone  about  four  feet  high,  called  '  Hang  Davy 
Stone,'  connected  with  -which  is  a  tradition  of  the  acci 
dental  strangling  of  a  sheep-steal er,  similar  to  the  legend 
mentioned  by  Mr.  Greaves  with  reference  to  the  stone  at 
Foremark.  —  J.  W.  PHILLIPS.  ' ' 

N.  fr  Q.,  May  17,  1856. 

"THE  HANGMAN  STONE. — It  may  be  interesting  to 
your  correspondent,  Mr.  J.  W.  Phillips,  to  be  informed 
that  at  about  five  miles  from  Sidmouth,  on  the  road  to 
Colyton,  on  the  right  hand  side  of  the  road,  and  near 
Bovey  House,  is  a  large  stone  known  by  the  name  of 
'Hangman  Stone.'  The  legend  is  precisely  similar  to 
that  noticed  by  Mr.  Phillips  and  by  Mr.  Greaves.  —  N.  S. 
HEINEKEB." 

N.  fr'Q.,  May  31,  1856. 

"  HANGMAN  STONES.  — Some  years  ago  there  was  still 
to  be  seen,  in  a  meadow  belonging  to  me,  situate  near 
the  northwestern  boundary  of  the  parish  of  Littlebury, 
in  Essex,  a  large  stone,  the  name  of  which,  and  the  tra 
ditions  attached  to  it,  were  identical  with  those  recorded 
by  your  correspondents  treating  of  Hangman  Stones. 
This  stone  was  subsequently  removed  by  the  late  Mr. 
Jabez  Gibson  to  Saffron  Walden,  and  still  remains  in 
his  garden  at  that  place.  I  have  a  strong  impression 
that  other  '  hangman  stones '  are  to  be  met  with  else 
where,  but  I  am  unable  to  point  out  the  exact  localities. 
—  BRAYBROOKK." 

"On  the  right  side  of  the  road  between  Brighton  and 
Newhaven  (about  five  miles,  I  think,  from  the  former 
place),  is  a  stone  designated  as  above,  and  respecting 
which  is  told  the  same  legend  as  that  which  is  quoted  by 
Henry  Kensington.  —  H.  E.  C  '' 


392  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

rope  slipped,  caught  him  by  the  neck,  and 
strangled  him.  Next  morning  he  was  found 
hanging  dead  on  one  side  of  the  fence  and 
the  sheep  on  the  other ;  in  memory  whereof 
the  lord  of  the  manor  caused  this  monument 
to  be  erected  as  a  warning  to  all  who  love 
mutton  better  than  virtue.  I  will  send  a 
copy  of  this  record  to  him  or  her  who  shall 

N.  fr  Q.,  June  21,  1856. 

"  HANGMAN  STONES.  —  At  a  picturesque  angle  in  the 
road  between  Sheffield  and  Barnsley,  and  about  three 
miles  south  of  the  latter  place,  there  is  a  toll-bar  called 
'  Hangman  Stone  Bar.'  Attached  to  this  title  is  the 
usual  legend  of  a  sheep-stealer  being1  strangled  by  the 
kicking  animal,  which  he  had  slung  across  his  shoulders, 
and  which  pulled  him  backwards  as  he  tried  to  climb 
over  the  stone  wall  inclosure  with  his  spoil.  I  do  not 
know  that  any  particular  stone  is  marked  as  the  one  on 
which  the  sheep  was  rested  for  the  convenience  of  the 
thief  in  trying  to  make  his  escape,  but  the  Jehu  of  the 
now  extinct  Barnsley  mail  always  told  this  story  to  any 
inquiring  passenger  who  happened  to  be  one  of  five  at 
top, — as  quaint  a  four-in-hand  as  you  shall  see.  —  AL- 
FKED  GATTY." 

I  have'little  doubt  that  the  story  told  by  the  "Jehu," 
which  my  memory  may  have  embellished  a  little,  as  is 
not  unusual  with  travellers'  recollections,  was  the  one  to 
which  I  listened  as  one  of  the  five  outsides,  and  in  an 
swer  to  my  question.  The  country  boys  used  to  insist 
upon  it  in  my  young  days  that  stones  grew.  It  seems  to 
me  probable  that  a  very  moderate  monolith  may  have 
grown  in  my  recollection  to  "  a  handsome  marble  col 
umn,"  and  that  "the  lord  ot  the  manor"  was  my  own 
phrase  rather  than  our  coachman's. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  393 

first  set  me  right  about  this  column  and  its 
locality.1 

And  telling  over  these  old  stories  reminds 
me  that  I  have  something  which  may  interest 
architects  and  perhaps  some  other  persons. 
I  once  ascended  the  spire  of  Strasburg  Ca 
thedral,  which  is  the  highest,  I  think  (at 
present),  in  Europe.  It  is  a  shaft  of  stone 
filigree-work,  frightfully  open,  so  that  the 
guide  puts  his  arms  behind  you  to  keep  you 
from  falling.  To  climb  it  is  a  noonday  night 
mare,  and  to  think  of  having  climbed  it 
crisps  all  the  fifty-six  joints  of  one's  twenty 
digits.  While  I  was  on  it,  "  pinnacled  dim 
in  the  intense  inane,"  a  strong  wind  was 
blowing,  and  I  felt  sure  that  the  spire  was 
rocking.  It  swayed  back  and  forward  like 
a  stalk  of  rye  or  a  cat-o '-nine-tails  (bulrush) 
with  a  bobolink  on  it.  I  mentioned  it  to 
the  guide,  and  he  said  that  the  spire  did 
really  swing  back  and  forward,  —  I  think  lie 
said  some  feet. 

Keep  any  line  of  knowledge  ten  years 
and  soine  other  line  will  intersect  it.  Long: 

O 

afterwards  I  was  hunting  out  a  paper  of 
Dumeril's  in  an  old  journal,  —  the  "  Ma- 
gazin  Encyclopedique "  for  Van  troisieme 
(1795),  when  I  stumbled  upon  a  brief  arti- 

1  I  sent  two  or  three  copies  to  different  correspondents. 


394  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

cle  on  the  vibrations  of  the  spire  of  Stras- 
burg  Cathedral.  A  man  can  shake  it  so 
that  the  movement  shall  be  shown  in  a  ves 
sel  of  water  nearly  seventy  feet  below  the 
summit,  and  higher  up  the  vibration  is  like 
that  of  an  earthquake.  I  have  seen  one  of 
those  wretched  wooden  spires  with  which 
we  very  shabbily  finish  some  of  our  stone 
churches  (thinking  that  the  lidless  blue  eye 
of  heaven  cannot  tell  the  counterfeit  we  try 
to  pass  on  it)  swinging  like  a  reed,  in  a 
wind,  but  one  would  hardly  think  of  such  a 
thing's  happening  in  a  stone  spire.  Does 
the  Bunker -Hill  Monument  bend  in  the 
blast  like  a  blade  of  grass  ?  I  suppose  so. 

You  see,  of  course,  that  I  am  talking  in  a 
cheap  way ; — perhaps  we  will  have  some  phi 
losophy  by  and  by  ;  —  let  me  work  out  this 
thin  mechanical  vein.  —  I  have  something 
more  to  say  about  trees.  I  have  brought 
down  this  slice  of  hemlock  to  show  you. 
Tree  blew  down  in  my  woods  (that  were) 
in  1852.  Twelve  feet  and  a  half  round, 
fair  girth ;  —  nine  feet,  where  I  got  my 
section,  higher  up.  This  is  a  wedge,  going 
to  the  centre,  of  the  general  shape  of  a  slice 
of  apple-pie  in  a  large  and  not  opulent  fam 
ily.  Length,  about  eighteen  inches.  I  have 
studied  the  growth  of  this  tree  by  its  rings, 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  395 

and  it  is  curious.  Three  hundred  and  forty- 
two  rings.  Started,  therefore,  about  1510. 
The  thickness  of  the  rings  tells  the  rate  at 
which  it  grew.  For  five  or  six  years  the 
rate  was  slow,  —  then  rapid  for  twenty  years. 
A  little  before  the  year  1550  it  began  to 
grow  very  slowly,  and  so  continued  for  about 
seventy  years.  In  1620  it  took  a  new  start 
and  grew  fast  until  1714,  then  for  the  most 
part  slowly  until  1786,  when  it  started  again 
and  grew  pretty  well  and  uniformly  until 
within  the  last  dozen  years,  when  it  seems  to 
have  got  on  sluggishly. 

Look  here.  Here  are  some  human  lives 
laid  down  against  the  periods  of  its  growth, 
to  which  they  corresponded.  This  is  Shak- 
speare's.  The  tree  was  seven  inches  in  di 
ameter  when  he  was  born ;  ten  inches  when 
he  died.  A  little  less  than  ten  inches  when 
Milton  was  born ;  seventeen  when  he  died. 
Then  comes  a  long  interval,  and  this  thread 
marks  out  Johnson's  life,  during  which  the 
tree  increased  from  twenty-two  to  twenty- 
nine  inches  in  diameter.  Here  is  the  span 
of  Napoleon's  career  ;  —  the  tree  does  n't 
seem  to  have  minded  it. 

I  never  saw  the  man  yet  who  was  not 
startled  at  looking  on  this  section.  I  have 
seen  many  wooden  preachers,  • —  never  one 


396  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

like  this.  How  much  more  striking  would 
be  the  calendar  counted  on  the  rings  of  one 
of  those  awful  trees  which  were  standing 
when  Christ  was  on  earth,  and  where  that 
brief  mortal  life  is  chronicled  with  the  stolid 
apathy  of  vegetable  being,  which  remembers 
all  human  history  as  a  thing  of  yesterday  in 
its  own  dateless  existence ! 

I  have  something  more  to  say  about  elms. 
A  relative  tells  me  there  is  one  of  great  glory 
in  Andover,  near  Bradford.  I  have  some  rec 
ollections  of  the  former  place,  pleasant  and 
other.  [I  wonder  if  the  old  Seminary  clock 
strikes  as  slowly  as  it  used  to.  My  room 
mate  thought,  when  he  first  came,  it  was  the 
bell  tolling  deaths,  and  people's  ages,  as  they 
do  in  the  country.  He  swore  —  (ministers' 
sons  get  so  familiar  with  good  words  that 
they  are  apt  to  handle  them  carelessly)  — 
that  the  children  were  dying  by  the  dozen, 
of  all  ages,  from  one  to  twelve,  and  ran  off 
next  day  in  recess,  when  it  began  to  strike 
eleven,  but  was  caught  before  the  clock  got 
through  striking.]  At  the  foot  of  u  the  hill," 
down  in  town,  is,  or  was,  a  tidy  old  elm, 
which  was  said  to  have  been  hooped  with 
iron  to  protect  it  from  Indian  tomahawks 
(Credat  Hahnemannus),  and  to  have  grown 
round  its  hoops  and  buried  them  in  its  wood. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  397 

Of  course,  this  is  not  the  tree  my  relative 
means. 

Also,  I  have  a  very  pretty  letter  from  Nor 
wich,  in  Connecticut,  telling  me  of  two  noble 
elms  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  town.  One 
hundred  and  twenty-seven  feet  from  bough- 
end  to  bough-end.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ? 
And  gentle  ladies  beneath  it,  that  love  it  and 
celebrate  its  praises  !  And  that  in  a  town 
of  such  supreme,  audacious,  Alpine  loveli 
ness  as  Norwich  !  —  Only  the  dear  people 
there  must  learn  to  call  it  Norridge,  and  not 
be  misled  by  the  mere  accident  of  spelling. 

NorwricA. 

Porc/^mouth. 

Cincinnati. 
What  a  sad  picture  of  our  civilization ! 

I  did  not  speak  to  you  of  the  great  tree 
on  what  used  to  be  the  Colman  farm,  in 
Deerfield,  simply  because  I  had  not  seen  it 
for  many  years,  and  did  not  like  to  trust  my 
recollection.  But  I  had  it  in  memory,  and 
even  noted  down,  as  one  of  the  finest  trees 
in  symmetry  and  beauty  I  had  ever  seen.  I 
have  received  a  document,  signed  by  two 
citizens  of  a  neighboring  town,  certified  by 
the  postmaster  and  a  selectman,  and  these 
again  corroborated,  reinforced,  and  sworn  to 
by  a  member  of  that  extraordinary  college- 


398  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

class  to  which  it  is  the  good  fortune  of  my 
friend  the  Professor  to  belong,  who,  though 
he  has  formerly  been  a  member  of  Congress, 
is,  I  believe,  fully  worthy  of  confidence.  The 
tree  "  girts  "  eighteen  and  a  half  feet,  and 
spreads  over  a  hundred,  and  is  a  real  beauty. 
I  hope  to  meet  my  friend  under  its  branches 
yet ;  if  we  don't  have  "  youth  at  the  prow," 
we  will  have  "  pleasure  at  the  'elm." 

And  just  now,  again,  I  have  got  a  letter 
about  some  grand  willows  in  Maine,  and  an 
other  about  an  elm  in  Wayland,  but  too  late 
for  anything  but  thanks.1 

[And  this  leads  me  to  say,  that  I  have 
received  a  great  many  communications,  in 
prose  and  verse,  since  I  began  printing  these 
notes.  The  last  came  this  very  morning,  in 

1  There  are  trees  scattered  about  our  New  England 
towns  worth  going  a  dozen  or  a  score  of  miles  to  see,  if 
one  only  knew  where  to  look  for  them.  A  mile  from 
where  I  am  now  writing  (Beverly  Farms,  Essex  County, 
Massachusetts)  is  one  of  the  noblest  oaks  I  have  ever 
seen,  not  distinguished  so  much  for  its  size,  though  its 
branches  must  spread  a  hundred  feet  from  bough-end  to 
bough-end,  as  for  its  beauty  and  lusty  promise.  A  few 
minutes  walk  from  the  station  at  Rockport  is  a  horse- 
chestnut  which  is  remarkable  for  size  of  trunk  and  rich 
ness  of  foliage.  I  found  that  it  measures  eight  feet  and 
three  inches  in  circumference,  about  four  feet  from  the 
ground.  There  may  be  larger  horse-chestnut  trees  in 
New  England,  but  I  have  not  seen  or  heard  of  them. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  399 

the  shape  of  a  neat  and  brief  poem,  from 
New  Orleans.  I  could  not  make  any  of 
them  public,  though  sometimes  requested  to 
do  so.  Some  of  them  have  given  me  great 
pleasure,  and  encouraged  me  to  believe  I 
had  friends  whose  faces  I  had  never  seen. 
If  you  are  pleased  with  anything  a  writer 
says,  and  doubt  whether  to  tell  him  of  it,  do 
not  hesitate ;  a  pleasant  word  is  a  cordial  to 
one,  who  perhaps  thinks  he  is  tiring  you, 
and  so  becomes  tired  himself.  I  purr  very 
loud  over  a  good,  honest  letter  that  says 
pretty  things  to  me.] 

—  Sometimes  very  young  persons  send 
communications  which  they  want  forwarded 
to  editors ;  and  these  young  persons  do  not 
always  seem  to  have  right  conceptions  of 
these  same  editors,  and  of  the  public,  and  of 
themselves.  Here  is  a  letter  I  wrote  to  one 
of  these  young  folks,  but,  on  the  whole, 
thought  it  best  not  to  send.  It  is  not  fair 
to  single  out  one  for  such  sharp  advice, 
where  there  are  hundreds  that  are  in  need 
of  it. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  You  seem  to  be  somewhat, 
but  not  a  great  deal,  wiser  than  I  was  at 
your  age.  I  don't  wish  to  be  understood  as 
saying  too  much,  for  I  think,  without  com- 


400  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

mitting  myself  to  any  opinion  on  my  pres 
ent  state,  that  I  was  not  a  Solomon  at  that 
stage  of  development. 

You  long  to  "  leap  at  a  single  bound  into 
celebrity."  Nothing  is  so  commonplace  as 
to  wish  to  be  remarkable.  Fame  usually 
comes  to  those  who  are  thinking  about  some 
thing  else,  —  very  rarely  to  those  who  say 
to  themselves,  "  Go  to,  now,  let  us  be  a  cel 
ebrated  individual !  "  The  struggle  for  fame, 
as  such,  commonly  ends  in  notoriety ;  —  that 
ladder  is  easy  to  climb,  but  it  leads  to  the 
pillory  which  is  crowded  with  fools  who 
could  not  hold  their  tongues  and  rogues  who 
could  not  hide  their  tricks. 

If  you  have  the  consciousness  of  genius, 
do  something  to  show  it.  The  world  is 
pretty  quick,  nowadays,  to  catch  the  flavor 
of  true  originality ;  if  you  write  anything 
remarkable,  the  magazines  and  newspapers 
will  find  you  out,  as  the  schoolboys  find  out 
where  the  ripe  apples  and  pears  are.  Pro 
duce  anything  really  good,  and  an  intelligent 
editor  will  jump  at  it.  Don't  flatter  yourself 
that  any  article  of  yours  is  rejected  because 
you  are  unknown  to  fame.  Nothing  pleases 
an  editor  more  than  to  get  anything  worth 
having  from  a  new  hand.  There  is  always 
a  dearth  of  reallv  fine  articles  for  a  first-rate 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  401 

journal ;  for  of  a  hundred  pieces  received, 
ninety  are  at  or  below  the  sea-level;  some 
have  water  enough,  but  no  head  ;  some  head 
enough,  but  no  water  ;  only  two  or  three  are 
from  full  reservoirs,  high  up  that  hill  which 
is  so  hard  to  climb. 

You  may  have  genius.  The  contrary  is 
of  course  probable,  but  it  is  not  demon 
strated.  If  you  have,  the  world  wants  you 
more  than  you  want  it.  It  has  not  only  a 
desire,  but  a  passion,  for  every  spark  of  gen 
ius  that  shows  itself  among  us  ;  there  is  not 
a  bull-calf  in  our  national  pasture  that  can 
bleat  a  rhyme  but  it  is  ten  to  one,  among 
his  friends,  and  no  takers,  that  he  is  the 
real,  genuine,  no-mistake  Osiris. 

Qu'est  ce  qu'il  a  fait  ?  What  has  he 
done  ?  That  was  Napoleon's  test.  What 
have  you  done  ?  Turn  up  the  faces  of  your 
picture-cards,  my  boy !  You  need  not  make 
mouths  at  the  public  because  it  has  not  ac 
cepted  you  at  your  own  fancy-valuation.  Do 
the  prettiest  thing  you  can  and  wait  your 
time. 

For  the  verses  you  send  me,  I  will  not  say 
they  are  hopeless,  and  I  dare  not  affirm  that 
they  show  promise.  I  am  not  an  editor,  but 
I  know  the  standard  of  some  editors.  You 
must  not  expect  to  "  leap  with  a  •  single 


402  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

bound  "  into  the  society  of  those  whom  it  is 
not  flattery  to  call  your  betters.  When  "  The 
Pactolian  "  has  paid  you  for  a  copy  of  verses, 
—  (I  can  furnish  you  a  list  of  alliterative 
signatures,  beginning  with  Annie  Aureole 
and  ending  with  Zoe  Zenith),  —  when  "  The 
Rag-bag  "  has  stolen  your  piece,  after  care 
fully  scratching  your  name  out,  —  when 
"  The  Nutcracker  "  has  thought  you  worth 
shelling,  and  strung  the  kernel  of  your  clev 
erest  poem,  —  then,  and  not  till  then,  you 
may  consider  the  presumption  against  you, 
from  the  fact  of  your  rhyming  tendency,  as 
called  in  question,  and  let  our  friends  hear 
from  you,  if  you  think  it  worth  while.  You 
may  possibly  think  me  too  candid,  and  even 
accuse  me  of  incivility;  but  let  me  assure 
you  that  I  am  not  half  so  plain-spoken  as 
Nature,  nor  half  so  rude  as  Time.  If  you 
prefer  the  long  jolting  of  public  opinion  to 
the  gentle  touch  of  friendship,  try  it  like  a 
man.  Only  remember  this,  —  that,  if  a 
bushel  of  potatoes  is  shaken  in  a  market- 
cart  without  springs  to  it,  the  small  pota 
toes  always  get  to  the  bottom. 

Believe  me,  etc.,  etc. 

I  always  think  of  verse-writers,  when  I 
am  in  this  vein ;  for  these  are  by  far  the 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  403 

most  exacting,  eager,  self-weighing,  restless, 
querulous,  unreasonable,  literary  persons  one 
is  like  to  meet  with.  Is  a  young  man  in  the 
habit  of  writing  verses?  Then  the  pre 
sumption  is  that  he  is  an  inferior  person. 
For,  look  you,  there  are  at  least  nine  chances 
in  ten  that  he  writes  poor  verses.  Now  the 
habit  of  chewing  on  rhymes  without  sense 
and  soul  to  match  them  is,  like  that  of  using 
any  other  narcotic,  at  once  a  proof  of  feeble 
ness  and  a  debilitating  agent.  A  young  man 
can  get  rid  of  the  presumption  against  him 
afforded  by  his  writing  verses  only  by  con 
vincing  us  that  they  are  verses  worth  writing. 
'All  this  sounds  hard  and  rough,  but,  ob 
serve,  it  is  not  addressed  to  any  individual, 
and  of  course  does  not  refer  to  any  reader 
of  these  pages.  I  would  always  treat  any 
given  young  person  passing  through  the  me 
teoric  showers  which  rain  down  on  the  brief 
period  of  adolescence  with  great  tenderness. 
God  forgive  us  if  we  ever  speak  harshly  to 
young  creatures  on  the  strength  of  these 
ugly  truths,  and  so,  sooner  or  later,  smite 
some  tender-souled  poet  or  poetess  on  the 
lips  who  might  have  sung  the  world  into 
sweet  trances,  had  we  not  silenced  the  matin- 
song  in  its  first  low  breathings !  Just  as  my 
heart  yearns  over  the  unloved,  just  so  it  sor- 


404  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

rows  for  the  ungifted  who  are  doomed  to  the 
pangs  of  an  undeceived  self  -  estimate.  I 
have  always  tried  to  be  gentle  with  the  most 
hopeless  cases.  My  experience,  however, 
has  not  been  encouraging. 

—  X.  Y.,  a3t.  18,  a  cheaply-got-up  youth 
with  narrow  jaws,  and  broad,  bony,  cold, 
red  hands,  having  been  laughed  at  by  the 
girls  in  his  village,  and  "  got  the  mitten " 
(pronounced  mittm)  two  or  three  tunes, 
falls  to  souling  and  controlling,  and  youth- 
ing  and  truthing,  in  the  newspapers.  Sends 
me  some  strings  of  verses,  candidates  for  the 
Orthopedic  Infirmary,  all  of  them,  in  which 
I  learn  for  the  millionth  time  one  of  the  fol 
lowing  facts :  either  that  something  about 
a  chime  is  sublime,  or  that  something  about 
time  is  sublime,  or  that  something  about  a 
chime  is  concerned  with  time,  or  that  some 
thing  about  a  rhyme  is  sublime  or  concerned 
with  time  or  with  a  chime.  Wishes  my 
opinion  of  the  same,  with  advice  as  to  his 
future  course. 

What  shall  I  do  about  it  ?  Tell  him  the 
whole  truth,  and  send  him  a  ticket  of  admis 
sion  to  the  Institution  for  Idiots  and  Feeble 
minded  Youth  ?  One  does  n't  like  to  be 
cruel,  —  and  yet  one  hates  to  lie.  Therefore 
one  softens  down  the  ugly  central  fact  of 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  405 

donkeyism,  —  recommends  study  of  good 
models,  —  that  writing  verse  should  be  an 
incidental  occupation  only,  not  interfering 
with  the  hoe,  the  needle,  the  lapstone,  or  the 
ledger,  —  and,  above  all,  that  there  should 
be  no  hurry  in  printing  what  is  written.  'Not 
the  least  use  in  all  this.  The  poetaster  who 
has  tasted  type  is  done  for.  He  is  like  the 
man  who  has  once  been  a  candidate  for  the 
Presidency.  He  feeds  on  the  madder  of  his 
delusion  all  his  days,  and  his  very  bones 
grow  red  with  the  glow  of  his  foolish  fancy. 
One  of  these  young  brains  is  like  a  bunch 
of  India  crackers ;  once  touch  fire  to  it  and 
it'  is  best  to  keep  hands  off  until  it  has  done 
popping,  —  if  it  ever  stops.  I  have  two  let 
ters  on  file ;  one  is  a  pattern  of  adulation, 
the  other  of  impertinence.  My  reply  to  the 
first,  containing  the  best  advice  I  could  give, 
conveyed  in  courteous  language,  had  brought 
out  the  second.  There  was  some  sport  in 
this,  but  Dulness  is  not  commonly  a  game 
fish,  and  only  sulks  after  he  is  struck.  You 
may  set  it  down  as  a  truth  which  admits  of 
few  exceptions,  that  those  who  ask  your 
opinion  really  want  your  praise,  and  will  be 
contented  with  nothing  less. 

There  is  another  kind  of  application  to 
which  editors,  or  those  supposed  to  have  ac- 


406  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

cess  to  them,  are  liable,  and  which  often 
proves  trying  and  painful.  One  is  appealed 
to  in  behalf  of  some  person  in  needy  circum 
stances  who  wishes  to  make  a  living  by  the 
pen.  A  manuscript  accompanying  the  letter 
is  offered  for  publication.  It  is  not  com 
monly  brilliant,  too  often  it  is  lamentably 
deficient.  If  Rachel's  saying  is  true,  that 
"  fortune  is  the  measure  of  intelligence," 
then  poverty  is  evidence  of  limited  capacity, 
which  it  too  frequently  proves,  to  be,  not 
withstanding  a  noble  exception  here  and 
there.  Now  an  editor  is  a  person  under  a 
contract  with  the  public  to  furnish  them 
with  the  best  things  he  can  afford  for  his 
money.  Charity  shown  by  the  publication 
of  an  inferior  article  would  be  like  the  gen 
erosity  of  Claude  Duval  and  the  other  gen 
tlemen  highwaymen,  who  pitied  the  poor  so 
much  they  robbed  the  rich  to  have  the  means 
of  relieving  them. 

Though  I  am  not  and  never  was  an  edi 
tor,  I  know  something  of  the  trials  to  which 
they  are  submitted.  They  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  develop  enormous  calluses  at  every 
point  of  contact  with  authorship.  Their 
business  is  not  a  matter  of  sympathy,  but  of 
intellect.  They  must  reject  the  unfit  pro 
ductions  of  those  whom  they  long  to  be- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  407 

friend,  because  it  would  be  a  profligate  char 
ity  to  accept  them.  One  cannot  burn  his 
house  down  to  warm  the  hands  even  of  the 
fatherless  and  the  widow. 

THE   PROFESSOR   UNDER   CHLOROFORM. 

—  You  have  n't  heard  about  my  friend 
the  Professor's  first  experiment  in  the  use 
of  anesthetics,  have  you? 

He  was  mightily  pleased  with  the  recep 
tion  of  that  poem  of  his  about  the  chaise. 
He  spoke  to  me  once  or  twice  about  another 
poem  of  similar  character,  he  wanted  to 
read  me,  which  I  told  him  I  would  listen  to 
arid  criticise. 

One  day,  after  dinner,  he  came  in  with 
his  face  tied  up,  looking  very  red  in  the 
cheeks  and  heavy  about  the  eyes.  —  Hy'r'ye  ? 
—  he  said,  and  made  for  an  arm-chair,  in 
which  he  placed  first  his  hat  and  then  his 
person,  going  smack  through  the  crown  of 
the  former  as  neatly  as  they  do  the  trick  at 
the  circus.  The  Professor  jumped  at  the  ex 
plosion  as  if  he  had  sat  down  on  one  of  those 
small  caltrops  our  grandfathers  used  to  sow 
round  in  the  grass  when  there  were  Indians 
about,  —  iron  stars,  each  ray  a  rusty  thorn  an 
inch  and  a  half  long,  —  stick  through  moc 
casins  into  feet,  —  cripple  'em  on  the  spot, 
and  give  'em  lockjaw  in  a  day  or  two. 


408  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

At  the  same  time  he  let  off  one  of  those 
big  words  which  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the 
best  man's  vocabulary,  but  perhaps  never 
turn  up  in  his  life,  —  just  as  every  man's 
hair  may  stand  on  end,  but  in  most  men  it 
never  does. 

After  he  had  got  calm,  he  pulled  out  a 
sheet  or  two  of  manuscript,  together  with  a 
smaller  scrap,  on  which,  as  he  said,  he  had 
just  been  writing  an  introduction  or  prelude 
to  the  main  performance.  A  certain  suspi 
cion  had  come  into  my  mind  that  the  Pro 
fessor  was  not  quite  right,  which  was  con 
firmed  by  the  way  he  talked  ;  but  I  let  him 
begin.  This  is  the  way  he  read  it :  — 

Prelude. 

I  'm  the  fellah  that  tole  one  day 
The  tale  of  the  won'erf  ul  one-hoss-shay. 
Wan'  to  hear  another  ?     Say. 

—  Funny,  was  n'  it  ?     Made  me  laugh,  — 
I  'm  too  modest,  I  am,  by  half,  — 
Made  me  laugh  's  though  I  sh'd  split,  — 
Cahn'  a  fellah  like  fellah's  own  wit  ? 

—  Fellahs  keep  sayin',  —  "Well,  now  that 's  nice ; 
Did  it  once,  but  cahn'  do  it  twice."  — 

Don'  you  b'lieve  the'z  no  more  fat ; 
Lots  in  the  kitch'n  'z  good  'z  that. 
Fus'-rate  throw,  'n'  no  mistake,  — 
Han'  us  the  props  for  another  shake ;  — 
Know  I  '11  try,  'n'  guess  I  '11  win  ; 
Here  sh'  goes  for  hit  'm  ag'in! 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  409 

Here  I  thought  it  necessary  to  interpose. 
' —  Professor,  —  I  said,  —  you  are  inebriated. 
The  style  of  what  you  call  your  "  Prelude  " 
shows  that  it  was  written  under  cerebral  ex 
citement.  Your  articulation  is  confused. 
You  have  told  me  three  times  in  succession, 
in  exactly  the  same  words,  that  I  was  the 
only  true  friend  you  had  in  the  world  that 
you  would  unbutton  your  heart  to.  You 
smell  distinctly  and  decidedly  of  spirits.  — 
I  spoke,  and  paused ;  tender,  but  firm. 

Two  large  tears  orbed  themselves  beneath 
the  Professor's  lids,  —  in  obedience  to  the 
principle  of  gravitation  celebrated  in  that 
delicious  bit  of  bladdery  bathos,  "  The  very 
law  that  moulds  a  tear,"  with  which  the 
"  Edinburgh  Review  "  attempted  to  put  down 
Master  George  Gordon  when  that  young 
man  was  foolishly  trying  to  make  himself 
conspicuous. 

One  of  these  tears  peeped  over  the  edge 
of  the  lid  until  it  lost  its  balance,  —  slid 
an  inch  and  waited  for  reinforcements, — 
swelled  again,  —  rolled  down  a  little  further, 
—  stopped,  —  moved  on,  —  and  at  last  fell 
on  the  back  of  the  Professor's  hand.  He 
held  it  up  for  me  to  look  at,  and  lifted  his 
eyes,  brimful,  till  they  met  mine. 

I   could  n't    stand   it,  —  I   always  break 


410  THE  AUTOCRAT   OF 

down  when  folks  cry  in  my  face,  —  so  I 
hugged  him,  and  said  he  was  a  dear  old 
boy,  and  asked  him  kindly  what  was  the 
matter  with  him,  and  what  made  him  smell 
so  dreadfully  strong  of  spirits. 

Upset  his  alcohol  lamp,  —  he  said,  —  and 
spilt  the  alcohol  on  his  legs.  That  was  it. 

—  But  what  had  he  been  doing  to  get  his 
head  into  such  a  state  ?  —  had  he  really  com 
mitted  an  excess  ?     What  was  the  matter  ? 

—  Then  it  came  out  that  he  had  been  tak 
ing  chloroform  to  have  a  tooth  out,  which 
had  left  him  in  a  very  queer  state,  in  which 
he  had  written  the  "  Prelude  "  given  above, 
and   under  the  influence  of   which  he  evi 
dently  was  still. 

I  took  the  manuscript  from  his  hands 
and  read  the  following  continuation  of  the 
lines  he  had  begun  to  read  me,  while  he 
made  up  for  two  or  three  nights'  lost  sleep 
as  he  best  might. 

PARSON  TURELL'S   LEGACY: 
OR,  THE  PRESIDENT'S  OLD  ARM-CHAIR. 

A   MATHEMATICAL  STORY. 

Facts  respecting  an  old  arm-chair. 
At  Cambridge.     Is  kept  in  the  College  there. 
Seems  but  little  the  worse  for  wear. 
That 's  remarkable  when  I  say 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  411 

It  was  old  in  President  Holyoke's  day. 
(One  of  his  boys,  perhaps  you  know, 
Died,  at  one  hundred,  years  ago.) 
He  took  lodging1  for  rain  or  shine 
Under  green  bed-clothes  in  '69. 

Know  old  Cambridge  ?     Hope  you  do.  — 
Born  there  ?     Don't  say  so!     I  was,  too. 
( Born  in  a  house  with  a  gambrel-roof ,  — 
Standing  still,  if  you  must  have  proof.  — 
;  Gambrel  ?  —  Gambrel  ?"  —  Let  me  beg 
You  '11  look  at  a  horse's  hinder  leg,  — 
First  great  angle  above  the  hoof,  — 
That 's  the  gambrel ;  hence  gambrel-roof.) 

—  Nicest  place  that  ever  was  seen,  — 
Colleges  red  and  Common  green, 
Sidewalks  brownish  with  trees  between. 
Sweetest  spot  beneath  the  skies 
When  the  canker-worms  don't  rise,  — 
When  the  dust,  that  sometimes  flies 
Into  your  mouth  and  ears  and  eyes, 

In  a  quiet  slumber  lies, 

Not  in  the  shape  of  unbaked  pies 

Such  as  barefoot  children  prize. 

A  kind  of  harbor  it  seems  to  be, 
Facing  the  flow  of  a  boundless  sea. 
Rows  of  gray  old  Tutors  stand 
Ranged  like  rocks  above  the  sand ; 
Rolling  beneath  them,  soft  and  green, 
Breaks  the  tide  of  bright  sixteen,  — 
One  wave,  two  waves,  three  waves,  four. 
Sliding  up  the  sparkling  floor ; 
Then  it  ebbs  to  flow  no  more, 
Wandering  off  from  shore  to  shore 
With  its  freight  of  golden  ore  ! 

—  Pleasant  place  for  boys  to  play ;  — 


412  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Better  keep  your  girls  away  ; 

Hearts  get  rolled  as  pebbles  do 

Which  countless  fingering-  waves  pursue, 

And  every  classic  beach  is  strown 

With  heart-shaped  pebbles  of  blood-red  stone., 

But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there  ;  — 
I  'm  talking  about  an  old  arm-chair. 
You  've  heard,  no  doubt,  of  PARSON  TURELL  ? 
Over  at  Medf ord  he  used  to  dwell ; 
Married  one  of  the  Mathers'  folk  ; 
Got  with  his  wife  a  chair  of  oak,  — 
Funny  old  chair,  with  seat  like  wedge, 
Sharp  behind  and  broad  front  edge,  — 
One  of  the  oddest  of  human  things, 
Turned  all  over  with  knobs  and  ring's,  — 
But  heavy,  and  wide,  and  deep,  and  grand,  — 
Fit  for  the  worthies  of  the  land,  — 
Chief -Justice  Sewall  a  cause  to  try  in, 
Or  Cotton  Mather  to  sit,  —  and  lie,  —  in. 
—  Parson  Turell  bequeathed  the  same 
To  a  certain  student,  —  SMITH  by  name  ; 
These  were  the  terms,  as  we  are  told  : 

*'  Saide  Smith  saide  Chaire  to  have  and  holde  ; 
When  he  doth  graduate,  then  to  passe 
To  ye  oldest  Youth  in  ye  Senior  Classe. 
On  Payment  of  "  —  (naming  a  certain  sum)  — 

"  By  him  to  whom  ye  Chaire  shall  come; 
He  to  ye  oldest  Senior  next, 
And  soe  forever,"  —  (thus  runs  the  text,)  — 

"'But  one  Crown  lesse  then  he  gave  to  claime, 
That  being  his  Debte  for  use  of  same." 

Smith  transferred  it  to  one  of  the  BROWNS, 
And  took  his  money,  —  five  silver  crowns. 
Brown  delivered  it  up  to  MOORE, 
Who  paid,  it  is  plain,  not  five,  but  four. 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  413 

Moore  made  over  the  chair  to  LEE, 
Who  gave  him  crowns  of  silver  three. 
Lee  conveyed  it  unto  DREW, 
And  now  the  payment,  of  course,  was  two. 
Drew  gave  up  the  chair  to  DUNN,  — 
All  he  got,  as  you  see,  was  one. 
Dunn  released  the  chair  to  HALL, 
And  got  by  the  bargain  no  crown  at  all. 

—  And  now  it  passed  to  a  second  BROWN, 
Who  took  it,  and  likewise  claimed  a  crown. 
When  Brown  conveyed  it  unto  WARE, 
Having  had  one  crown,  to  make  it  fair, 
He  paid  him  two  crowns  to  take  the  chair  ; 
And  Ware,  being  honest,  (as  all  Wares  be,) 
He  paid  one  POTTER,  who  took  it,  three. 
Four  got  ROBINSON  ;  five  got  Dix ; 
JOHNSON  primus  demanded  six  ; 

And  so  the  sum  kept  gathering  still 
Till  after  the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill 

—  When  paper  money  became  so  cheap, 
Folks  would  n't  count  it,  but  said  ' '  a  heap," 
A  certain  RICHARDS,  the  books  declare, 

(A.  M.  in  '90  ?     I  've  looked  with  care 
Through  the  Triennial,  —  name  not  there.) 
This  person,  Richards,  was  offered  then 
Eight  score  pounds,  but  would  have  ten ; 
Nine,  I  think,  was  the  sum  he  took,  — 
Not  quite  certain,  — but  see  the  book. 

—  By  and  by  the  wars  were  still, 

But  nothing  had  altered  the  Parson's  will. 
The  old  arm.-chair  was  solid  yet, 
But  saddled  with  such  a  monstrous  debt ! 
Things  grew  quite  too  bad  to  bear, 
Paying  such  sums  to  get  rid  of  the  chair ! 
But  dead  men's  fingers  hold  awful  tight, 
And  there  was  the  will  in  black  and  white. 
Plain  enough  for  a  child  to  spell. 


414  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

What  should  be  done  no  man  could  tell, 
For  the  chair  was  a  kind  of  nightmare  curse, 
And  every  season  but  made  it  worse. 

As  a  last  resort,  to  clear  the  doubt, 
They  got  old  GOVERNOR  HANCOCK  out. 
The  Governor  came,  with  his  Light-horse  Troop 
And  his  mounted  truckmen,  all  cock-a-hoop  ; 
Halberds  glittered  and  colors  flew, 
French  horns  whinnied  and  trumpets  blew, 
The  yellow  fifes  whistled  between  their  teeth 
And  the  bumble-bee  bass-drums  boomed  beneath ; 
So  he  rode  with  all  his  band, 
Till  the  President  met  him,  cap  in  hand. 

—  The  Governor  "  hefted  "  the  crowns,  and  said,  — 
"  A  will  is  a  will,  and  the  Parson  's  dead." 

The  Governor  hefted  the  crowns.     Said  he,  — 
"  There  is  your  p'int.     And  here  's  my  fee. 
These  are  the  terms  you  must  fulfil,  — 
On  such  conditions  I  BREAK  THE  WILL!  " 
The  Governor  mentioned  what  these  should  be. 
(Just  wait  a  minute  and  then  you  '11  see. ) 
The  President  prayed.     Then  all  was  still, 
And  the  Governor  rose  and  BROKE  THE  WILL  ! 

—  "  About  those  conditions  ?  "    Well,  now  you  go 
And  do  as  I  tell  you,  and  then  you  '11  know. 
Once  a  year,  on  Commencement- day, 

If  you  '11  only  take  the  pains  to  stay, 
You  '11  see  the  President  in  the  CHAIR, 
Likewise  the  Governor  sitting  there. 
The  President  rises  ;   both  old  and  young 
May  hear  his  speech  in  a  foreign  tongue, 
The  meaning  whereof,  as  lawyers  swear, 
Is  this  :   Can  I  keep  this  old  arm-chair  ? 
And  then  his  Excellency  bows, 
As  much  as  to  say  that  he  allows. 
The  Vice-Gub.  next  is  called  by  name  ; 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  415  * 

He  bows  like  t'other,  which  means  the  same. 

And  all  the  officers  round  'em  bow, 

As  much  as  to  say  that  they  allow. 

And  a  lot  of  parchments  about  the  chair 

Are  handed  to  witnesses  then  and  there, 

And  then  the  lawyers  hold  it  clear 

That  the  chair  is  safe  for  another  year. 

God  bless  you,  Gentlemen  !     Learn  to  give 
Money  to  colleges  while  you  live. 
Don't  be  silly  and  think  you  '11  try 
To  bother  the  colleges,  when  you  die, 
With  codicil  this,  and  codicil  that, 
That  Knowledge  may  starve  while  Law  grows  fat  ? 
For  there  never  was  pitcher  that  would  n't  spill, 
And  there 's  always  a  flaw  in  a  donkey's  will ! 

- —  Hospitality  is  a  good  deal  a  matter  of 
latitude,  I  suspect.  The  shade  of  a  palm- 
tree  serves  an  African  for  a  hut ;  his  dwell 
ing  is  all  door  and  no  walls ;  everybody  can 
come  in.  To  make  a  morning  call  on  an 
Esquimaux  acquaintance,  one  must  creep 
through  a  long  tunnel ;  his  house  is  all  walls 
and  110  door,  except  such  a  one  as  an  apple 
with  a  worm -hole  has.  One  might,  very 
probably,  trace  a  regular  gradation  between 
these  two  extremes.  In  cities  where  the 
evenings  are  generally  hot,  the  people  have 
porches  at  their  doors,  where  they  sit,  and 
this  is,  of  course,  a  provocative  to  the  inter 
change  of  civilities.  A  good  deal,  which  in 
colder  regions  is  ascribed  to  mean  disposi 
tions,  belongs  really  to  mean  temperature. 


416  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Once  in  a  while,  even  in  our  Northern 
cities,  at  noon,  in  a  very  hot  summer's  day, 
one  may  realize,  by  a  sudden  extension  in 
his  sphere  of  conciousness,  how  closely  he  is 
shut  up  for  the  most  part.  —  Do  you  not  re 
member  something  like  this  ?  July,  between 
1  and  2  P.  M.,  Fahrenheit  96°,  or  thereabout. 
Windows  all  gaping,  like  the  mouths  of 
panting  dogs.  Long,  stinging  cry  of  a  lo 
cust  comes  in  from  a  tree,  half  a  mile  off ; 
had  forgotten  there  was  such  a  tree.  Baby's 
screams  from  a  house  several  blocks  dis 
tant  ;  —  never  knew  there  were  any  babies 
.in  the  neighborhood  before.  Tinman  pound- 
iiig  something  that  clatters  dreadfully, — 
very  distinct  but  don't  remember  any  tin 
man's  shop  near  by.  Horses  stamping  on 
pavement  to  get  off  flies.  When  you  hear 
these  four  sounds,  you  may  set  it  down  as  a 
warm  day.  Then  it  is  that  one  would  like 
to  imitate  the  mode  of  life  of  the  native  at 
Sierra  Leone,  as  somebody  has  described  it : 
stroll  into  the  market  in  natural  costume,  — 
buy  a  water-melon  for  a  halfpenny,  —  split 
it,  and  scoop  out  the  middle,  —  sit  clown  in 
one  half  of  the  empty  rind,  clap  the  other 
011  one's  head,  and  feast  upon  the  pulp. 

—  I  see  some  of  the  London  journals  have 
been  attacking  some  of  their  literary  people 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  417 

for  lecturing,  on  the  ground  of  its  being  a 
public  exhibition  of  themselves  for  money. 
A  popular  author  can  print  his  lecture ;  if 
he  deliver  it,  it  is  a  case  of  qucestum  corpore, 
or  making  profit  of  his  person.  None  but 
"snobs"  do  that.  Ergo,  etc.  To  this  I 
reply,  —  Negatur  minor.  Her  most  Gra 
cious  Majesty,  the  Queen,  exhibits  herself  to 
the  public  as  a  part  of  the  service  for  which 
she  is  paid.  We  do  not  consider  it  low-bred 
in  her  to  pronounce  her  own  speech,  and 
should  prefer  it  so  to  hearing  it  from  any 
other  person,  or  reading  it.  His  Grace  and 
his  Lordship  exhibit  themselves  very  often 
for  popularity,  and  their  houses  every  day 
for  money.  —  No,  if  a  man  shows  himself 
other  than  he  is,  if  he  belittles  himself  be 
fore  an  audience  for  hire,  then  he  acts  un 
worthily.  But  a  true  word,  fresh  from  the 
lips  of  a  true  man,  is  worth  paying  for,  at 
the  rate  of  eight  dollars  a  day,  or  even  of 
fifty  dollars  a  lecture.  The  taunt  must  be  an 
outbreak  of  jealousy  against  the  renowned 
authors  who  have  the  audacity  to  be  also' 
orators.  The  sub-lieutenants  (of  the  press) 
stick  a  too  popular  writer  and  speaker  with 
an  epithet  in  England,  instead  of  with  a  ra 
pier,  as  in  France.  —  Poh  !  All  England  is 
one  great  menagerie,  and,  all  at  once,  the 


418  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

jackal,  who  admires  the  gilded  cage  of  the 
royal  beast,  must  protest  against  the  vulgar 
ity  of  the  talking  -  bird's  and  the  nightin 
gale's  being  willing  to  become  a  part  of  the 
exhibition  ! 


THE  LONG  PATH. 

(Last  of  the  Parentheses.) 

Yes,  that  was  my  last  walk  with  the 
schoolmistress.  It  happened  to  be  the  end 
of  a  term  ;  and  before  the  next  began,  a 
very  nice  young  woman,  who  had  been  her 
assistant,  was  announced  as  her  successor, 
and  she  was  provided  for  elsewhere.  So  it 
was  no  longer  the  schoolmistress  that  I 
walked  with,  but  —  Let  us  not  be  in  un 
seemly  haste.  I  shall  call  her  the  school 
mistress  still ;  some  of  you  love  her  under 
that  name. 

—  When  it  became  known  among  the 
boarders  that  two  of  their  number  had 
joined  hands  to  walk  down  the  long  path  of 
life  side  by  side,  there  was,  as  you  may  sup 
pose,  no  small  sensation.  I  confess  I  pitied 
our  landlady.  It  took  her  all  of  a  sudd  in, 
—  she  said.  Had  not  known  that  we  was 
keepiii'  company,  and  never  mistrusted  any- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  419 

thing  partic'lar.  Ma'am  was  right  to  better 
herself.  Did  n't  look  very  rugged  to  take 
care  of-  a  femily,  but  could  get  hired  haalp, 
she  calc'lated.  —  The  great  maternal  instinct 
came  crowding  up  in  her  soul  just  then,  and 
her  eyes  wandered  until  they  settled  on  her 
daughter. 

—  No,  poor,  dear  woman,  —  that  could 
not  have  been.  But  I  am  dropping,  one  of 
my  internal  tears  for  you,  with  this  pleasant 
smile  on  my  face  all  the  time. 

The  great  mystery  of  God's  providence  is 
the  permitted  crushing  out  of  flowering  in 
stincts.  Life  is  maintained  by  the  respira 
tion  of  oxygen  and  of  sentiments.  In  the 
long  catalogue  of  scientific  cruelties  there  is 
hardly  anything  quite  so  painful  to  think  of 
as  that  experiment  of  putting  an  animal 
under  the  bell  of  an  air-pump  and  exhaust 
ing  the  air  from  it.  [I  never  saw  the  ac 
cursed  trick  performed.  Laus  Deo  /]  There 
comes  a  time  when  the  souls  of  human  be 
ings,  women,  perhaps,  more  even  than  men, 
begin  to  faint  for  the  atmosphere  of  the  af 
fections  they  were  made  to  breathe.  Then 
it  is  that  Society  places  its  transparent  bell- 
glass  over  the  young  woman  who  is  to  be 
the  subject  of  one  of  its  fatal  experiments. 
The  element  by  which  only  the  heart  lives 


420  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

is  sucked  out  of  her  crystalline  prison. 
Watch  her  through  its  transparent  walls ;  — 
her  bosom  is  heaving  ;  but  it  is  in  a  vacuum. 
Death  is  no  riddle,  compared  to  this.  I  re 
member  a  poor  girl's  story  in  the  "  Book  of 
Martyrs."  The  "  dry-pan  and  the  gradual 
fire "  were  the  images  that  frightened  her 
most.  How  many  have  withered  and  wasted 
under  as  slow  a  torment  in  the  walls  of  that 
larger  Inquisition  which  we  call  Civiliza 
tion  ! 

Yes,  my  surface-thought  laughs  at  you, 
you  foolish,  plain,  overdressed,  mincing, 
cheaply-organized,  self -saturated  young  per 
son,  whoever  you  may  be,  now  reading  this, 
—  little  thinking  you  are  what  I  describe, 
and  in  blissful  unconsciousness  that  you  are 
destined  to  the  lingering  asphyxia  of  soul 
which  is  the  lot  of  such  multitudes  worthier 
than  yourself.  But  it  is  only  my  surface- 
thought  which  laughs.  For  that  great  pro 
cession  of  the  UNLOVED,  who  not  only  wear 
the  crown  of  thorns,  but  must  hide  it  under 
the  locks  of  brown  or  gray,  —  under  the 
snowy  cap,  under  the  chilling  turban, — 
hide  it  even  from  themselves,  —  perhaps 
never  know  they  wear  it,  though  it  kills 
them,  —  there  is  no  depth  of  tenderness  in 
my  nature  that  Pity  has  not  sounded.  Some- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  421 

where,  —  somewhere,  —  love  is  in  store  for 
them,  —  the  universe  must  not  be  allowed 
to  fool  them  so  cruelly.  What  infinite  pa 
thos  in  the  small,  half-unconscious  artifices 
by  which  unattractive  young  persons  seek 
to  recommend  themselves  to  the  favor  of 
those  towards  whom  our  dear  sisters,  the 
unloved,  like  the  rest,  are  impelled  by  their 
God-given  instincts ! 

Eead  what  the  singing-women  —  one  to 
ten  thousand  of  the  suffering  women  —  tell 
us,  and  think  of  the  griefs  that  die  un 
spoken  !  Nature  is  in  earnest  when  she 
makes  a  woman ;  and  there  are  women 
enough  lying  in  the  next  churchyard  with 
very  commonplace  blue  slate-stones  at  their 
head  and  feet,  for  whom  it  was  just  as  true 
that  "  all  sounds  of  life  assumed  one  tone  of 
love,"  as  for  Letitia  Landon,  of  whom  Eliza 
beth  Browning  said  it ;  but  she  could  give 
words  to  her  grief,  and  they  could  not.  — 
Will  you  hear  a  few  stanzas  of  mine  ? 

THE  VOICELESS. 

We  count  the  broken  lyres  that  rest 

Where  the  sweet  wailing1  singers  slumber,  — 

But  o'er  their  silent  sister's  breast 

The  wild  flowers  who  Avill  stoop  to  number? 

A  few  can  touch  the  magic  string, 

And  noisy  Fame  is  proud  to  win  them ;  •  *- 


422  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

Alas  for  those  who  never  sing, 

But  die  with  all  their  music  in  them ! 

Nay,  grieve  not  for  the  dead  alone 

Whose  song  has  told  their  hearts'  sad  story,  — — 
Weep  for  the  voiceless,  who  have  known 

The  cross  without  the  crown  of  glory  ! 
Not  where  Leucadian  breezes  sweep 

O'er  Sappho's  memory-haunted  billow, 
But  where  the  glistening  night-dews  weep 

On  nameless  sorrow's  churchyard  pillow. 

O  hearts  that  break  and  give  no  sign 

Save  whitening  lip  and  fading  tresses, 
Till  Death  pours  out  his  cordial  wine 

Slow-dropped  from  Misery's  crushing  presses,  — 
If  singing  breath  or  echoing  chord 

To  every  hidden  pang  were  given, 
What  endless  melodies  were  poured, 

As  sad  as  earth,  as  sweet  as  heaven ! 

I  hope  that  our  landlady's  daughter  is 
not  so  badly  off,  after  all.  That  young  man 
from  another  city,  who  made  the  remark 
which  you  remember  about  Boston  State- 
house  and  Boston  folks,  has  appeared  at  our 
table  repeatedly  of  late,  and  has  seemed  to 
me  rather  attentive  to  this  young  lady. 
Only  last  evening  I  saw  him  leaning  over 
her  while  she  was  playing  the  accordion,  — 
indeed,  I  undertook  to  join  them  in  a  song, 
and  got  as  far  as  "  Come  rest  in  this  boo-oo," 
when,  my  voice  getting  tremulous,  I  turned 
off,  as  one  steps  out  of  a  procession,  and  left 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  423 

the  basso  and  soprano  to  finish  it.  I  see  no 
reason  why  this  young  woman  should  not  be 
a  very  proper  match  for  a  man  who  laughs 
about  Boston  State-house.  He  can't  be  very 
particular. 

The  young  fellow  whom  I  have  so  often 
mentioned  was  a  little  free  in  his  remarks, 
but  very  good-natured.  —  Sorry  to  have  you 
go,  —  he  said.  —  Schoolma'am  made  a  mis 
take  not  to  wait  for  me.  Have  n't  taken 
anything  but  mournin'  fruit  at  breakfast 
since  I  heard  of  it.  —  Mourning  fruit,  — 
said  I,  —  what 's  that?  —  Huckleberries  and 
blackberries,  —  said  he  ;  —  could  n't  eat  in 
colors,  raspberries,  currants,  and  such,  after 
a  solemn  thing  like  this  happening.  —  The 
conceit  seemed  to  please  the  young  fellow. 
If  you  will  believe  it,  when  we  came  down 
to  breakfast  the  next  morning,  he  had  car 
ried  it  out  as  follows.  You  know  those  odi 
ous  little  "  saas-plates  "  that  figure  so  largely 
at  boarding-houses,  and  especially  at  taverns, 
into  which  a  strenuous  attendant  female 
trowels  little  dabs,  sombre  of  tint  and  hete 
rogeneous  of  composition,  which  it  makes  you 
feel  homesick  to  look  at,  and  into  which  you 
poke  the  elastic  coppery  teaspoon  with  the 
air  of  a  cat  dipping  her  foot  into  a  wash-tub, 
—  (not  that  I  mean  to  say  anything  against 


424  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

them,  for,  when  they  are  of  tinted  porcelain 
or  starry  many-faceted  crystal,  and  hold 
clean  bright  berries,  or  pale  virgin  honey, 
or  "  lucent  syrups  tinct  with  cinnamon," 
and  the  teaspoon  is  of  white  silver,  with  the 
Hall-mark,  solid,  but  not  brutally  heavy,  — 
as  people  in  the  green  stage  of  millionism 
will  have  them,  —  I  can  dally  with  their  am 
ber  semi-fluids  or  glossy  spherules  without 
a  shiver),  —  you  know  these  small,  deep 
dishes,  I  say.  When  we  came  down  the 
next  morning,  each  of  these  (two  only  ex- 
cepted)  was  covered  with  a  broad  leaf.  On 
lifting  this,  each  boarder  found  a  small  heap 
of  solemn  black  huckleberries.  But  one  of 
those  plates  held  red  currants,  and  was  cov 
ered  with  a  red  rose  ;  the  other  held  white 
currants,  and  was  covered  with  a  white  rose. 
There  was  a  laugh  at  this  at  first,  and  then 
a  short  silence,  and  I  noticed  that  her  lip 
trembled,  and  the  old  gentleman  opposite 
was  in  trouble  to  get  at  his  bandanna  hand 
kerchief. 

—  "  What  was  the  use  in  waiting  ?  We 
should  be  too  late  for  Switzerland,  that  sea 
son,  if  we  waited  much  longer."  -  The 
hand  I  held  trembled  in  mine,  and  the  eyes 
fell  meekly,  as  Esther  bowed  herself  before 
the  feet  of  Ahasuerus.  —  She  had  been  read- 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  425 

ing  that  chapter,  for  she  looked  up,  —  if 
there  was  a  film  of  moisture  over  her  eyes 
there  was  also  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  dis 
tant  smile  skirting  her  lips,  but  not  enough 
to  accent  the  dimples,  —  and  said,  in  her 
pretty,  still  way,  —  "If  it  please  the  king, 
and  if  I  have  found  favor  in  his  sight,  and 
the  thing  seem  right  before  the  king,  and  I 
be  pleasing  in  his  eyes  "  — 

I  don't  remember  what  King  Ahasuerus 
did  or  said  when  Esther  got  just  to  that 
point  of  her  soft,  humble  words,  —  but  I 
know  what  I  did.  That  quotation  from 
Scripture  was  cut  short,  anyhow.  We  came 
to  a  compromise  on  the  great  question,  and 
the  time  was  settled  for  the  last  day  of  sum 
mer. 

In  the  mean  time,  I  talked  on  with  our 
boarders,  much  as  usual,  as  you  may  see  by 
what  I  have  reported.  I  must  say,  I  was 
pleased  with  a  certain  tenderness  they  all 
showed  toward  us,  after  the  first  excitement 
of  the  news  was  over.  It  came  out  in  trivial 
matters,  —  but  each  one,  in  his  or  her  way, 
manifested  kindness.  Our  landlady,  for  in 
stance,  when  we  had  chickens,  sent  the  liver 
instead  of  the  gizzard,  with  the  wing,  for 
the  schoolmistress.  This  was  not  an  acci 
dent  ;  the  two  are  never  mistaken,  though 


426  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

some  landladies  appear  as  if  they  did  not 
know  the  difference.  The  whole  of  the  com 
pany  were  even  more  respectfully  attentive 
to  my  remarks  than  usual.  There  was  no 
idle  punning,  and  very  little  winking  on  the 
part  of  that  lively  young  gentleman  who,  as 
the  reader  may  remember,  occasionally  in 
terposed  some  playful  question  or  remark, 
which  could  hardly  be  considered  relevant, 
—  except  when  the  least  allusion  was  made 
to  matrimony,  when  he  would  look  at  the 
landlady's  daughter,  and  wink  with  both 
sides  of  his  face,  until  she  would  ask  what 
he  was  pokin'  his  fun  at  her  for,  and  if  he 
was  n't  ashamed  of  himself.  In  fact,  they 
all  behaved  very  handsomely,  so  that  I  really 
felt  sorry  at  the  thought  of  leaving  my 
boarding-house. 

I  suppose  you  think,  that,  because  I  lived 
at  a  plain  widow-woman's  plain  table,  I  was 
of  course  more  or  less  infirm  in  point  of 
worldly  fortune.  You  may  not  be  sorry  to 
learn,  that,  though  not  what  great  mer 
chants  call  very  rich,  I  was  comfortable,  — 
comfortable,  —  so  that  most  of  those  mod 
erate  luxuries  I  described  in  my  verses  on 
Contentment  —  most  of  them,  I  say  —  were 
within  our  reach,  if  we  chose  to  have  them. 
But  I  found  out  that  the  schoolmistress  had 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  427 

a  vein  of  charity  about  her,  which  had  hith 
erto  been  worked  on  a  small  silver  and  cop 
per  basis,  which  made  her  think  less,  per 
haps,  of  luxuries  than  even  I  did,  —  mod 
estly  as  I  have  expressed  my  wishes. 

It  is  a  rather  pleasant  thing  to  tell  a  poor 
young  woman,  whom  one  has  contrived  to 
win  without  showing  his  rent-roll,  that  she 
has  found  what  the  world  values  so  highly, 
in  following  the  lead  of  her  affections.  That 
was  an  enjoyment  I  was  now  ready  for. 

I  began  abruptly :  —  Do  you  know  that 
you  are  a  rich  young  person  ? 

I  know  that  I  am  very  rich,  —  she  said. 
—  Heaven  has  given  me  more  than  I  ever 
asked ;  for  I  had  not  thought  love  was  ever 
meant  for  me. 

It  was  a  woman's  confession,  and  her 
voice  fell  to  a  whisper  as  it  threaded  the 
last  words. 

I  don't  mean  that,  —  I  said,  —  you  blessed 
little  saint  and  seraph  !  —  if  there  's  an  angel 
missing  in  the  New  Jerusalem,  inquire  for 
her  at  this  boarding-house  !  —  I  don't  mean 
that !  I  mean  that  I  —  that  is,  you  —  am  — 
are  —  confound  it !  —  I  mean  that  you  '11  be 
what  most  people  call  a  lady  of  fortune.  — 
And  I  looked  full  in  her  eyes  for  the  effect 
of  the  announcement. 


428  THE  AUTOCRAT   OF 

There  was  n't  any.  She  said  she  was 
thankful  that  I  had  what  would  save  me 
from  drudgery,  and  that  some  other  time  I 
should  tell  her  about  it.  —  I  never  made  ? 
greater  failure  in  an  attempt  to  produce  i 
sensation. 

So  the  last  day  of  summer  came.  It  was 
our  choice  to  go  to  the  church,  but  we  had 
a  kind  of  reception  at  the  boarding-house. 
The  presents  were  all  arranged,  and  among 
them  none  gave  more  pleasure  than  the  mod 
est  tributes  of  our  fellow  -  boarders,  —  for 
there  was  not  one,  I  believe,  who  did  not 
send  something.  The  landlady  would  insist 
on  making  an  elegant  bride-cake,  with  her 
own  hands ;  to  which  Master  Benjamin 
Franklin  wished  to  add  certain  embellish 
ments  out  of  his  private  funds,  —  namely, 
a  Cupid  in  a  mouse -trap,  done  in  white 
sugar,  and  two  miniature  flags  with  the 
Stars  and  Stripes,  which  had  a  very  pleasing 
effect,  I  assure  you.  The  landlady's  daugh 
ter  sent  a  richly  bound  copy  of  Tapper's 

Poems.    On  a  blank  leaf  was  the  following 

&' 

written  in  a  very  delicate  and  careful  hand : 

Presented  to  ...  by  ... 

On  the  eve  ere  her  union  in  holy  matrimony. 
May  sunshine  ever  beam  o'er  her ! 

Even  the  poor  relative  thought  she  must  do 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  429 

^mething,  and  sent  a  copy  of  "  The  Whole 
Duty  of  Man,"  bound  in  very  attractive  va 
riegated  sheepskin,  the  edges  nicely  mar 
bled.  From  the  divinity-student  came  the 
loveliest  English  edition  of  Keble's  "  Chris 
tian  Year."  I  opened  it,  when  it  came,  to 
the  Foartli  Sunday  in  Lent,  and  read  that 
angelic  poem,  sweeter  than  anything  I  can 
remember  since  Xavier's  "  My  God,  I  love 

Thee." I    am    not   a    Churchman,  —  I 

don't  believe  in  planting  oaks  in  flower-pots, 
—  but  such  a  poem  as  " The  Rosebud" 
makes  one's  heart  a  proselyte  to  the  culture 
it  grows  from.  Talk  about  it  as  much  as 
you  like,  —  one's  breeding  shows  itself  no 
where  more  than  in  his  religion.  A  man 
should  be  a  gentleman  in  his  hymns  and 
prayers ;  the  fondness  for  "  scenes,"  among 
vulgar  saints,  contrasts  so  meanly  with  that 

*'  God  only  and  good  angels  look 

Behind  the  blissful  scene,"  — 

and  that  other,  — 

"  He  could  not  trust  his  melting  soul 
But  in  his  Maker's  sight,"  — 

that  I  hope  some  of  them  will  see  this,  and 
read  the  poem,  and  profit  by  it. 

My  laughing  and  winking  young  friend 
undertook  to  procure  and  arrange  the  flow- 


430  THE  AUTOCRAT  OF 

ers  for  the  table,  and  did  it  with  immense 
zeal.  I  never  saw  him  look  happier  than 
when  he  came  in,  his  hat  saucily  on  one  side, 
and  a  cheroot  in  his  mouth,  with  a  huge 
bunch  of  tea-roses,  which  he  said  were  for 
"  Madam." 

One  of  the  last  things  that  came  was  an 
old  square  box,  smelling  of  camphor,  tied 
and  sealed.  It  bore,  in  faded  ink,  the  marks, 
"  Calcutta,  1805."  On  opening  it,  we  found 
a  white  Cashmere  shawl  with  a  very  brief 
note  from  the  dear  old  gentleman  opposite, 
saying  that  he  had  kept  this  some  years 
thinking  he  might  want  it,  and  many  more, 
not  knowing  what  to  do  with  it,  —  that  he 
had  never  seen  it  unfolded  since  he  was  a 
young  supercargo,  —  and  now,  if  she  would 
spread  it  on  her  shoulders,  it  would  make 
him  feel  young  to  look  at  it. 

Poor  Bridget,  or  Biddy,  our  red -armed 
maid  of  all  work !  What  must  she  do  but 
buy  a  small  copper  breast-pin  and  put  it 
under  "  Schoolma'am's "  plate  that  morn 
ing,  at  breakfast  ?  And  Schoolma'am  would 
wear  it,  —  though  I  made  her  cover  it,  as 
well  as  I  could,  with  a  tea-rose. 

It  was  my  last  breakfast  as  a  boarder, 
and  I  could  not  leave  them  in  utter  silence. 

Good-by,  —  I  said,  —  my  dear  friends,  one 


THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE.  431 

and  all  of  you !  I  have  been  long  with  you, 
and  I  find  it  hard  parting.  I  have  to  thank 
you  for  a  thousand  courtesies,  and  above 
all  for  the  patience  and  indulgence  with 
which  you  have  listened  to  me  when  I  have 
tried  to  instruct  or  amuse  you.  My  friend 
the  Professor  (who,  as  well  as  my  friend  the 
Poet,  is  unavoidably  absent  on  this  interest 
ing  occasion)  has  given  me  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  he  would  occupy  my  empty  chair 
about  the  first  of  January  next.  If  he 
comes  among  you,  be  kind  to  him,  as  you 
have  been  to  me.  May  the  Lord  bless  you 
all !  —  And  we  shook  hands  all  round  the 
table. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  the  breakfast 
things  and  the  cloth  were  gone.  I  looked 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  bare  boards 
over  which  I  had  so  often  uttered  my  senti 
ments  and  experiences  —  and  —  Yes,  I  am 
a  man,  like  another. 

All  sadness  vanished,  as,  in  the  midst  of 
these  old  friends  of  mine,  whom  you  know, 
and  others  a  little  more  up  in  the  world, 
perhaps,  to  whom  I  have  not  introduced  you, 
I  took  the  schoolmistress  before  the  altar 
from  the  hands  of  the  old  gentleman  who 
used  to  sit  opposite,  and  who  would  insist 
on  giving  her  away. 


432  THE  AUTOCRAT. 

And  now  we  two  are  walking  the  long 
path  in  peace  together.  The  "  schoolmis 
tress  "  finds  her  skill  in  teaching  called  for 
again,  without  going  abroad  to  seek  little 
scholars.  Those  visions  of  mine  have  all 
come  true. 

I  hope  you  all  love  me  none  the  less  for 
anything  I  have  told  you.  Farewell ! 


INDEX. 


ABUSE,  all   good  attempts   get, 
110. 

ashamed  of  being  funny,  67  j 
always  praise  after  fifty,  110. 

^Estivation,  363. 

Automatic      principles      appear 

Affinities  and  antipathies,  305. 

more  prevalent  the  more  we 

Agassiz,  3. 

study,    116  ;    mental    actions, 

Age,   softening  effects  of,   110  ; 

185. 

begins  when  fire  goes  down, 

Averages,  their  awful  uniformity, 

209  ;  Roman  age  of  enlistment, 

193. 

210;    its  changes  a  string  of 

insults,  213. 
A  good  time  going,  309. 

BABIES,  old,  213. 
Bacon,  Lord,  374. 

Air-pump,  animal  under,  419. 
Album  Verses,  21. 

Balzac,  207,  374. 
Beauties,  vulgar,  their  virtuous 

Alps,  effect  of  looking  at,  369. 

indignation  on  being  looked  at, 

American,  the  Englishman  rein 

270. 

forced  (a  noted  person  thinks), 

Beliefs    like    ancient    drinking 

330. 

glasses,  20. 

Analogies,  power  of  seeing,  112. 

Bell-glass,  young  woman  under, 

Anatomist's  Hymn,  The,  242. 

419. 

Anglo-Saxons  die  out  in  America 

Benicia  Boy,  not  challenged  by 

(Dr.  Knox  thinks),  330. 

the  Professor,  and  why,  240. 

Anniversaries    dreaded    by    the 

Benjamin     Franklin,    the    land 

Poet,  and  why,  308. 

lady's  son,  17,  71,  77,  118,  159, 

Argonauta,  133. 

186,  187,  341,  428. 

Arguments,  what  are  those  which 

Berkshire,  325,  340,  366. 

spoil  conversation,  14. 

Berne,  leap  from  the  platform  at, 

Aristocracy,  the  forming  Amer 

387. 

ican,  358  ;  pluck  the  back-bone 

Blake,  Mr.,  his  Jesse  Rural,  123. 

of,  3GO. 

Blondes,  two  kinds  of,  254. 

Artists  apt  to  act  mechanically  on 

"  Blooded  "  horses,  50. 

their  brains,  259. 

Boat,  the    Professor's  own,  de 

Assessors,    Heaven's,    effect    of 

scription  of,  233. 

meeting  one  of  them,  126. 

Boating,  the  Professor  describes 

Asylum,  the,  342. 

his,  227. 

Audience,   average   intellect  of, 

Boats,  the   Professor's  fleet  of, 

192  ;    aspect  of,  193  ;    a  com 

227. 

pound  vertebrate,  194. 

Books,    hating,     84;    society    a 

Audiences  very  nearly  alike,  194  ; 

strong    solution    of,    84;    the 

good   feeling  and  intelligence 

mind  sometimes    feels    above 

of,  195. 

them,    181  ;    a    man's    and    a 

Author  does  not  hate  anybody, 

woman's  reading,  379. 

304. 

Bores,  all  men  are,  except  when 

Authors,  jockeying  of,  51  ;  purr 

we  want  them,  8. 

if  skilfully  handled,  66  ;   hate 

Boston,  Seven  Wise  Men  of,  their 

those  who  call  them  droll   G7  •         sayings,  170. 

434 


INDEX. 


Bowie-knife,  the  Rj-.uan  gladius 

modified,  26. 
Brain,  upper  and  lower  stories 

of,  248  ;  attempts  to  reach  me 
chanically,  259. 
Brains,  seventy-year  clocks,  257  ; 

containing  ovarian  eggs,  how 

to  know  them,  272. 
Bridget  becomes  a  caryatid,  137 ; 

presents  a  breast-pin,  430. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  admirable 

sentiment  of,  127. 
Browning,  Elizabeth,  421. 
Bruce's  Address,   alteration  of, 

63. 

Bulbous-headed  people,  9. 
Bunker-Hill  Monument,  rocking 

of,  394. 
Byron,  his  line  about  striking  the 

electric  chain,  106. 

CACHE,  children  make  instinct 
ively,  283. 

Calamities,  grow  old  rapidly  in 
proportion  to  their  magnitude, 
43 ;  the  recollection  of  returns 
after  the  first  sleep  as  if  new, 
43. 

Calculating  machine,  11 ;  power, 
least  human  of  qualities,  12. 

Call  him  not  old,  241. 

Campbell,  misquotation  of,  96. 

Canary-bird,  swimming  move 
ments  of,  116. 

Cant  terms,  use  of,  353. 

Carlyle,  his  article  on  Boswell, 
387. 

Carpenter's  bench,  Author  works 
at,  249. 

Chambers  Street,  376. 

Chamouni,  368. 

Characteristics,  Carlyle's  article, 

Charles  Street,  376. 

Chaucer  compared  to  an  Easter- 
Beurr£,  112. 

Chess-playing,  conversation  com 
pared  to,  87. 

Children,  superstitious  little 
wretches  and  spiritual  cow 
ards,  282. 

Chloroform,  Professor,  the,  un 
der,  407. 

Chryso  -  ariptocracy,  our,  the 
weak  point  in,  StiO. 

Cicero  de  Senfctntc,  Professor 
reads,  208;  his  treatise  de 
Senectute,  217. 


Cincinnati,  how  not  to  pronounce; 
397. 

Circles,  intellectual,  367. 

Cities,  some  of  the  smaller  ones 
charming,  175 ;  leaking  of  na 
ture  into,  377. 

Clergy  rarely  hear  sermons,  39. 

Clergymen,  their  patients  not 
always  truthful,  118. 

Clock  of  the  Andover  Seminary, 
396. 

Closet  full  of  sweet  smells,  106. 

Clubs,  advantages  of,  86. 

Coat,  constructed  on  a  prior* 
grounds,  91. 

Cobb,  Sylvanus,  Jr.,  22. 

Coffee,  342,  344. 

Cold-blooded  creatures,  179. 

Coleridge,  his  remark  on  literary 
men's  needing  a  profession 
248. 

Coliseum,  visit  to,  386. 

Comet,  the  late,  32. 

Commencement  day,  like  the 
start  for  the  Derby,  129. 

Common  sense,  as  we  under 
stand  it,  20. 

Communicntions  received  by  the 
Author,  3i»7. 

Company,  the  sad,  342. 

Conceit  bred  by  little  localized 
powers  and  narrow  streaks  of 
knowledge,  12 ;  uses  of,  12 ; 
natural  to  the  mind  as  a  centre 
to  a  circle,  13;  makes  people 
cheerful,  14. 

Constitution,  American  female, 
58 ;  in  choice  of  summer  resi 
dence,  366. 

Contentment,  370. 

Controversy,  hydrostatic  para 
dox  of.  156. 

Conundrums  indulged  in  by  the 
company,  348  ;  rebuked  by  the 
Author,  349. 

Conversation,  very  serious  mat 
ter,  7 ;  with  some  persons 
weakening,  7  ;  great  faults  of, 
14  ;  spoiled  by  certain  kinds  of 
argument,  14  ;  a  code  of  final 
ities  necessary  to,  14 ;  com 
pared  to  Italian  game  of  morn, 
21 ;  shapes  our  thoughts,  o"  ; 
Blair-\\\g  of  reported,  55  ;  one 
of  the  fine  arts,  70  ;  compared 
to  chess-playing,  87  ;  depends 
on  how  much  is  taken  for 
granted,  87  ;  of  Lecturers.  88. 


INDEX. 


435 


Cookeson,  William,  oi  All-Souls 
College,  119. 

Copley,  his  portrait  of  the  mer 
chant-uncle,  28  ;  of  the  great- 
grandmother,  28. 

"Correspondent,  our  Foreign," 
161. 

Counterparts  of  people  in  many 
different  cities,  190. 

Cowper,  255 ;  his  lines  on  his 
mother's  portrait,  388  ;  his  lines 
on  the  "Royal  George,"  388. 

Creed,  the  Author's,  121. 

Crinoline,  Otaheitan,  25. 

Crow  and  king-bird,  40. 

Curls,  flat  circular,  on  temples, 
25. 

DANDIES,  uses  of,  355 ;  illustrious 
ones,  356,  357  ;  men  are  born, 
358. 

Davidson,  Lucretia  and  Marga 
ret,  255. 

Deacon's  Masterpiece,  The,  350. 

Death  as  a  form  of  rhetoric,  183 ; 
introduction  to,  290. 

Deerfield,  elm  in,  397. 

Devizes,  woman  struck  dead  at, 
389. 

Dighton  Rock,  inscription  on, 
342. 

Dimensions,  three  of  solids,  han 
dling  ideas  as  if  they  had,  116. 

Divinity,  doctors  of,  many  people 
qualified  to  be,  39. 

Divinity  Student,  the,  1,  58,  112, 
113,  115,  118, 121,  137, 151,  170, 
171,  181,  186,  252,  259,  267, 
272,  282,  305,  317,  318,  347,  356, 
362,  429. 

Doctor,  old,  his  catalogue  of 
books  for  light  reading,  218. 

Drinking-glasses,  ancient,  beliefs 
like,  20. 

Droll,  authors  dislike  to  be 
called,  67. 

Drunkenness  often  a  punish 
ment,  264. 

Dull  persons  great  comforts  at 
times,  8  ;  happiness  of  finding 
we  are,  83. 

EABS,  voluntary  movement  of, 
12. 

Earth,  not  ripe  yet,  32. 

Earthquake,  to  launch  the  Levi 
athan,  98. 

Eblis,  hall  of,  343. 

Editors,  appeals  te>  'their  benev 


olence,  404 ;  must  get  callous, 
406. 

Education,  professional,  most  of 
our  people  have  had,  38. 

Eggs,  ovarian,  intellectual,  271. 

Elm,  American,  322 ;  the  great 
Johnston,  323;  Hatfield,  325; 
Sheffield,  325 ;  West-Spring 
field,  325  ;  Pittsfield,  326  ; 
Nevvburyport,  326 ;  Cohasset, 
326;  English  and  American, 
comparison  of,  328. 

Elms,  Springfield,  325;  first- 
class,  326;  second-class,  326; 
Mr.  Paddock's  row  of,  331  ;  in 
Andover,  396;  in  Norwich, 
397  ;  in  Deerfield,  397. 

Emerson,  2. 

Emotions    strike    us    obliquely, 

Epithets  follow  isothermal  lines, 

157. 
Erasmus,  colloquies  of,  119 ;  Nau- 

fragium  or  "  Shipwreck  "  of, 

119. 
Erectile    heads,   men  of    genius 

with,  9. 

Essays,  diluted,  90. 
Essex  Street,  375. 
Esther,   Queen,  and   Ahasuerus, 

424,  425. 
Eternity,  remembering  one's  self 

in,  278. 

Everlasting,  the  herb,  its  sugges 
tions,  103. 
Exercise,  scientifically  examined, 

231. 

Ex  pede  Herculem,  150. 
Experience,  a  solemn  fowl ;  her 

eggs,  374. 
Experts  in  crime  and  suffering, 

45. 

FACES,  negative,  194. 

Facts,  horror  of  generous  minds 
for  what  are  commonly  called, 
6 ;  the  brute  beasts  of  the  in 
telligence,  6  ;  men  of,  196. 

Family,  man  of,  28. 

Fancies,  youthful,  369. 

Farewell,  the  Author's,  431. 

Fault  found  with  everything 
worth  saying,  153. 

Feeling  that  we  have  been  in  the 
same  condition  before,  99 ; 
modes  of  explaining  it,  100, 101. 

Feelings,  every  person's,  have  a 
front-door  and  a  side-door,  176. 

Fields,  James  T.,  29. 


436 


INDEX. 


Fifty  cents,  a  figure  of  rhetoric, 
362. 

Flash  phraseology,  353. 

Flavor,  nothing  knows  its  own, 
74. 

Fleet  of  our  companions,  128. 

Flowers,  why  poets  talk  so  much 
of,  316. 

Franklin-place,  front  -  yards  in, 
375. 

French  exercise,  Benjamin 
Franklin's,  78, 187. 

Friends  shown  up  by  story-tel 
lers,  82. 

Friendship  does  not  authorize 
one  to  say  disagreeable  things, 
68. 

Front-door  and  side-door  to  our 
feelings,  176. 

Fruit,  green,  intellectual,  these 
United  States  a  great  market 
for,  361 ;  mourning,  423. 

Fuel,  carbon  and  bread  and 
cheese  are  equally,  216. 

Funny,  authors  ashamed  of  be 
ing,  67. 

"Fust-rate"  and  other  vulgar 
isms,  38. 

GEESE  for  swans,  377. 

Genius,  a  weak  flavor  of,  4 ;  the 
advent  of,  a  surprise,  73. 

Gift-enterprises,  Nature's,  74. 

Gilbert,  the  French  poet,  255. 

Gil  Bias,  the  archbishop  served 
him  right,  69;  motto  from, 
275. 

Gilman,  Arthur,  29. 

Gilpin,  Daddy,  320. 

Gingko-tree,  383. 

Girls'  story  in  "  Book  of  Mar 
tyrs,"  420 ;  two  young,  their 
fall  from  gallery,  387. 

Gizzard  and  liver  never  con 
founded,  425. 

Good-by,  the  Author's,  431. 

Grammar,  higher  law  in,  54. 

Grammar  of  Assent,  Newman's, 
19. 

Gravestones,  transplanting  of, 
332. 

Green  fruit,  intellectual,  361. 

Ground-bait,  literary,  51. 

HABIT,  what  its  essence  is,  215. 
Hand,  the  great  wooden,  284. 
"Haow?  "  whether  final,  151. 
Harvard  University,  28. 
Hot,  the  old  gentleman  opposite' a 


white,  245;  the  Author's  youth 
ful  Leghorn,  245. 

Bats,  aphorisms  concerning,  246. 

Hawthorne,  2. 

Hearts,  inscriptions  on,  342. 

Heresy,  burning  for,  experts  in, 
would  be  found  in  any  large 
city,  45. 

Historian,  the  quotation  from,  on 
punning,  17. 

Honey,    emptying    the   jug    of, 

Hoosac    Tunnel,    completion    of 

the,  34. 

Horse-chestnut  at  Rockport,  398. 
Horses,  what  they  feed  on,  231. 
Hospitality  depends  on  latitude, 

415. 

Hot  day,  sounds  of,  416. 
Hotel  de  VUnivers  et  des  Stats 

Unis,  173. 
Housatonic,      the        Professor's 

dwelling  by,  239. 
House,  the  body  we  live  in,  334 ; 

Irishman's   at  Cambridgeport, 

27. 
Houses,  dying  out  of,  334 ;  killed 

by  commercial    smashes,  334 ; 

shape  themselves  upon  our  na 
tures,  335. 

Houynhnm  Gazette,  315. 
Huckleberries,    hail  -  storm    of, 

318. 
Hull,  how  Pope's  line    is  read 

there,  176. 
Huma,  story  of,  10. 
Humanities,  cumulative,  31. 
Hyacinth,  blue,  315,  317. 
Hysterics,  123. 

ICE  in  wine-glass,  tinkling  like 
cow-bells,  105. 

Ideas,  age  of,  in  our  memories, 
42 ;  handling  them  as  if  they 
had  the  three  dimensions  of 
solids,  116. 

Imponderables  move  the  world, 
187. 

Impromptus,  23. 

Inherited  traits  show  very  early, 
270. 

Insanity,  the  logic  of  an  accurate 
mind  overtasked,  57  ;  becomes 
a  duty  under  certain  circum 
stances,  58. 

Instincts,  crushing  out  of,  419. 

Intemperance,  the  Author  dis 
courses  of,  260. 

Intermittent,  poetical,  344. 


INDEX. 


437 


Inventive  Power,  economically 
used,  329. 

Iris,  cut  the  yellow  hair,  68. 

Irishman's  house  at  Cambridge- 
port,  27. 

Island,  the,  53. 

JAILERS  and  undertakers  magne 
tize  people,  45. 

Jaundice,  as  a  token  of  affection, 
183. 

John,  the  young  fellow  called, 
73,  88,  99,  107,  138,  154,  242, 
259,  267,  268,  287,  303,  319,  347, 
355,  362,  423,  429. 

John  and  Thomas,  their  dialogue 
of  six  persons.  71,  72. 

Johnson,  Dr. ,  his  remark  on  at 
tacks,  156;  Iine8  to  Thrale, 
210. 

Judgment,  standard  of,  how  to 
establish,  20. 

KEATS,  255. 

Keble,  his  poem,  429. 

"  Kerridge,"  and  other  charac 
teristic  expressions,  149. 

Kirke  White,  256. 

Knowledge,  little  streaks  of  spe 
cialized,  breed  conceit,  12. 

Knuckles,  marks  of,  on  broken 
glass,  148. 

LADY,  the  real,  not  sensitive  if 
looked  at,  270. 

Lady-Boarder,  the,  with  auto 
graph-book,  8. 

Landlady,  71,  99,  147,  418,  428. 

Landlady's  daughter,  22,  25,  77, 
190,  307,  319,  422,  428. 

Landon,  Letitia,  421. 

Latter-day  Warnings,  33. 

Laughter  and  tears,  wind  and 
water-power,  123. 

Lecturers,  grooves  in  their 
minds,  88 ;  talking  in  streaks 
out  of  their  lectures,  88 ;  get 
homesick,  196;  attacks  upon, 
416. 

Lectures,  feelings  connected  with 
their  delivery,  190 ;  popular, 
what  they  should  have,  191 ; 
old,  192  ;  what  they  ought  to 
be,  192. 

Leibnitz,  remark  of,  1. 

Les  Societes  Polyphysiophiloso- 
phiques,  187. 

Letter  to  an  ambitious  young 
man,  399. 


Letters    with  various    requests, 

Leviathan,  launch  of,  98. 

Life,  experience  of,  39 ;  compared 
to  transcript  of  it,  80  ;  corn- 
pared  to  books,  184  ;  divisible 
into  fifteen  periods,  213  ;  early, 
revelations  concerning,  279 ; 
its  experiences,  380. 

Lilac  leaf-buds,  315,  317. 

Lion,  the  leaden  one  at  Alnwick, 
388. 

Listen  thought  himself  a  tragic 
actor,  125. 

Literary  pickpockets,  69. 

Living  Temple,  The,  243. 

Lochiel  rocked  in  cradle  when 
old,  111. 

Log,  using  old  schoolmates  as,  to 
mark  our  rate  of  sailing,  127. 

Logical  minds,  what  they  do,  19. 

Longfellow,  2. 

Long  path,  the,  382,  418 ;  walk- 
ing  together,  432. 

Love-capacity,  373. 

Love,  introduction  to,  291 ;  its 
relative  solubility  in  the  speech 
of  men  and  women,  374. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  31. 

Ludicrous,  a  divine  idea,  126. 

Limiversary,  return  of,  66. 

Lyric  conception  hits  like  a  bul 
let,  134. 

MACATJLAY-FLOWERS  of  Litera 
ture,  18. 

"Magazine,  Northern,"  got  up 
by  the  "  Coins-Outers,"  165. 

Maine,  willows  in,  398. 

Man  of  family,  28. 

Map,  photograph  of,  on  the  wall, 
337. 

Mare  Rubrum,  169. 

Marigold,  its  suggestions,  102. 

Mather,  Cotton,  90,  412. 

Meerschaums  and  poems  must  be 
kept  and  used,  138,  142. 

Men,  self-made,  27  ;  all,  love  all 
women,  305. 

Mesalliance,  dreadful  conse 
quences  of,  299. 

Middle-aged  female,  takes  of 
fence,  40. 

Millionism,  green  stage  of,  424. 

Milton  compared  to  a  Saint-Ger 
main  pear,  etc.,  112. 

Mind,  automatic  actions  of,  185. 

Minds,  classification  of,  1  ;  jerkj 
ones  fatiguing,  7  ;  logical,  wha 


438 


INDEX. 


they  do,  19:  calm  and  clear, 
best  basis  for  love  and  friend 
ship,  180;  saturation-point  of, 
183. 

Minister,  my  old,  his  remarks  on 
want  of  attention,  41. 

Misery,  a  great  one  puts  a  new 
stamp  on  us,  44. 

Misfortune,  professional  dealers 
in,  45. 

Misprints,  65. 

Molasses,  Melasses,  or  Molossa's, 
90. 

Mora,  Italian  game  of  conversa 
tion  compared  to,  21. 

Moralist,  the  great,  quotation 
from,  on  punning,  17, 

Motley,  John  Lothrop,  2,  35. 

Mountains  and  sea,  3G5. 

Mourning  fruit,  423. 

Mug,  the  bitten,  277. 

Muliebrity  a«d  femineity  in 
voice,  299. 

Musa,  345. 

Muscular  powers,  when  they  de^ 
cline,  216. 

Muse,  the,  345. 

Music,  its  effects  different  from 
thought,  182. 

Musicians,  odd  movements  of, 
116. 

Mutual  Admiration,  Society  of, 
2 

My  Lady's  Cheek  (verse),  213. 
Myrtle  Street,  discovered  by  the 

Professor,  229  ;  description  of, 

230  ;  gardep  in,  375. 

NAHANT,  367. 

Nature,   Amen  of,   316;  leaking 

of,  into  cities,  377. 
Naushon  Island,  53. 
Nautilus,  The  Chambered,  133. 
Nerve,  olfactory,  connection  of, 

with  brain,  104. 
Nerve-playing,  masters  of,  178. 
Nerve-tapping,  7. 
Newman's  Grammar  of  Assent, 

19. 
Newton,   his    speech    about  the 

child  and  the  pebbles,  114. 
Norwich,  elms  in,  397  ;  how  not 

to  pronounce,  397. 
Novel,  one,  everybody  has  stuff 

for,  80 ;  why  I  do  not  write  a, 

82. 

OAK,  its  one  mark  of  supremacy, 
321 ;  at  Beverly  Farms,  398. 


Ocean,  the,  two  men  walking  by, 
113. 

Old  Age,  starting  point  of,  210 ; 
allegory  of,  210 ;  approach  of, 
212  ;  how  nature  cheats  us  into, 
214  ;  habits  the  great  mark  of, 
215 ;  in  the  Professor's  con 
temporaries,  222  ;  remedies 
for,  226  ;  excellent  remedy  for, 
241. 

Old  Gentleman  opposite,  4,  71, 
83,  118,  136,  242,  245,  247,  273, 
289,  292,  430,  431. 

Old  Man,  a  person  startled  when 
he  first  hears  himself  called  so, 
214. 

Old  Men,  always  poets  if  they 
ever  have  been,  137. 

Omens,  of  childhood,  284. 

One-hoss-shay,  The  Wonderful, 
350. 

"  Our  Sumatra  Correspondence," 

PAIL,  the  white  pine,  of  water, 
277. 

Parallelism,  without  identity,  in 
oriental  and  occidental  nature, 
329. 

Parentheses,  dismount  the  read 
er,  245. 

Parson  Turell's  Legacy,  410. 

Path,  the  long,  382. 

Pears,  men  are  like,  in  coming 
to  maturity,  112. 

Pedal  locomotives,  234. 

Peirce,  2. 

Phosphorus,  its  suggestions,  102. 

Photographs  of  the  Past,  336. 

Phrases,  complimentary,  applied 
to  authors,  what  determines 
them,  158. 

Physalia,  133. 

Pie,  the  young  fellow  treats,  dis 
respectfully,  107  ;  the  Author 
takes  too  large  a  piece  of,  109. 

Piecrust,  poems,  etc.,  written 
under  influence  of,  109. 

Pillar,  the  Hangman's,  389  e t  seq. 

Pinkney,  William,  9. 

Pirates,  Danish,  their  skins  on 
church  doors,  147. 

Plagiarism,  Author's  virtuous  dis 
gust  for,  201. 

Pocket-book  fever,  286. 

Poem  —  with  the  slight  altera 
tions^  65. 

Poems,  alterations  of,  63 ;  have 
a  body  and  a  soul,  135 ;  green 


INDEX. 


439 


state  of,  138 ;  porous,  like 
meerschaums,  142  ;  post-pran 
dial,  the  Professor's  idea  of  ,308. 

Poet,  my  friend  the,  131, 176, 241, 
247  et  seq.,  253,  307,  309,  311. 

Poetaster  who  has  tasted  type, 
405. 

Poetical  impulse  external,  135. 

Poetry  uses  white  light  for  its 
main  object,  G7. 

Poets  love  verses  while  warm 
from  their  minds,  137 ;  two 
kinds  of,  254 ;  apt  to  act  me 
chanically  on  their  brains,  259. 

Poets  and  artists,  why  likely  to  be 
prone  to  abuse  of  stimulants, 
205. 

Polish  lance,  26. 

Poor  relation  in  black  bombazine, 
118,  138,  288,  362,  428. 

Poplar,  murder  of  one,  322. 

Port-chuck,  his  vivacious  sally, 
246. 

Portsmouth,  how  not  to  pro 
nounce,  397. 

Powers,  little  localized,  breed 
conceit,  12. 

Preacher,  dull,  might  lapse  into 
quasi  heathenism,  39. 

"  Prelude,"  the  Professor's,  408. 

Prentiss,  Dame,  277. 

Pride  in  a  woman,  373. 

Prince  Rupert's  drops  of  litera 
ture,  52. 

Principle  against  obvious  facts, 
76. 

Private  Journal,  extract  from 
my,  341. 

Private  theatricals,  59. 

Probabilities  provided  with  buf 
fers,  76. 

Profession,  literary  men  should 
have  a,  248. 

Professor,  my  friend  the,  35,  97, 
110,  123,  148,  156,  165,  205  et 
seq.,  242,  247  et  seq.,  268,  270, 
271,  311,  334  et  seq.,  349,  407 
et  seq. 

Prologue,  61. 

Public  Garden,  376. 

Pugilists,  when  "  stale,"  216. 

Punning,  quotations  respecting, 

Puns,  law  respecting,  15;  what 
they  consist  in,  68  ;  surrepti 
tiously  circulated  among  the 
company,  348. 

Pupil  of  the  eye,  simile  concern 
ing,  the  Author  disgorges,  198. 


QUANTITY,  false,  Sydney  Smith's 
remark  on,  151. 

RACE  of  life,  the,  report  of  run 
ning  in,  130. 

Races,  our  sympathies  go  natu 
rally  with  higher,  89. 

Racing,  not  republican,  47  ;  rec 
ords  of,  49. 

Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo,  283. 

Raspail's  proof-sheets,  34. 

Rat  des  Salons  a  Lecture,  78. 

Reading  for  the  sake  of  talking, 
185;  a  man's  and  a  woman's, 
379. 

Recollections,  trivial,  essential  to 
our  identity,  289. 

Relatives,  opinions  of,  as  to  a 
man's  powers,  73. 

Repeating  one's  self,  9. 

Reputation,  living  on  contingent, 
83. 

Reputations,  conventional,  52. 

"Retiring"  at  night,  etiquette 
of,  288. 

Rhode  Island,  near  what  place, 
323. 

Rhymes,  old,  we  get  tired  of,  24  ; 
bad  to  chew  upon,  403. 

Ridiculous,  love  of,  dangerous  to 
literary  men,  123. 

Roby,  Joseph,  340. 

Roses,  damask,  314,  317. 

Rowing,  nearest  approach  to  fly 
ing,  234  ;  its  excellences,  235  ; 
its  joys,  235. 

"Royal  George,"  the,  Cowper's 
poem  on,  388. 

Rum,  the  term  applied  by  low 
people  to  noble  fluids,  263. 

SAAS-PLATES,  423. 

Saddle-leather  compared  to  sole- 
leather,  230. 

"  Sahtisfahction,"  a  tepid  ex 
pression,  149. 

Saint  Genevieve,  visit  to  tomb 
of,  386. 

"  Saints  and  their  bodies,"  an  ad 
mirable  Essay,  227. 

Santorini's  laughing-muscle,  269. 

Saturday  Club,  the,  of  Boston,  2. 

Saving  one's  thoughts,  36. 

Schoolmistress,  the,  43,  58,  83, 
118, 147,  160,  171,  186,  253,  280 
et  seq. ,288,  292  et  seq.,  314,  331, 
341  et  seq.,  368,  425  et  seq.,  431. 

"Science,"  the  Professor's  in 
ward  smile  at  her  airs,  248. 


440 


INDEX. 


Scientific  certainty  has  no  spring 

in  it,  75 
Scientific  knowledge  partakes  of 

insolence,  75. 

Scraping  the  floor,  effect  of,  68. 
Sea  and  Mountains,  3G5. 
Seed  capsule  (of  poems),  277. 
Self-determining  power,    limita 
tion  of,  121. 
Self-esteem,  with  good    ground, 

is  imposing,  13. 
Self-made  men,  26. 
Sentiments,    all    splashed      and 

streaked  with,  316. 
Sermon,  proposed,  of  the  Author, 

117. 
Sermons,  feeble,  hard  to  listen  to, 

but  may  act  inductively,  39. 
Seven  Wise  Men  of  Boston,  their 

sayings  ,  170. 
Shakspeare,      old      copy,     with 

flakes  of  piecrust  between  its 

leaves,  106. 

Shawl,  the  Indian  blanket,  25. 
Ship,  the,  and  martin-house,  287. 
Ships,  afraid  of,  283. 
Shop  -  blinds,    iron,    produce     a 

shiver,  369. 

Shortening  weapons  and  length 
ening  boundaries,  26. 
Sierra  Leone,  native  of,  enjoying 

himself,  416. 
Sight,  pretended  failure  of,  in  old 

persons,  240. 
Sigourney,  Mrs.,  10. 
Similitude    and  analogies,  ocean 

of,  116. 
Sin,  its  tools   and  their  handle, 

170  ;  introduction  to,  290. 
Smell,    as    connected    with    the 

memory,  etc.,  102. 
Smile,  the  terrible,  267. 
Smith,  Sydney,  surgical  operation 

proposed    by,   64 ;    abused    by 

London  Quarterly  Review,  124. 
Sneaking  fellows  to  be  regarded 

tenderly,  304. 
Societes,  les,   Polyphysiophiloso- 

phiques,  187. 

Societies  of  mutual  admiration,  2. 
Soul,   its    concentric    envelopes, 

334. 
Sounds,     suggestive     ones,    293. 

294,295. 

Sparring,  the  Professor  sees  a  lit 
tle,  and  describes  it,  238. 
Spoken  language,  plastic,  37. 
Sporting  men,  virtues  of,  51. 
Spring  has  come,  273. 


Squirming  when  old  falsehoods 
are  turned  over,  156. 

Stage-Ruffian,  the,  71. 

"Stars,  the,  and  the  earth,"  a 
little  book,  referred  to,  367. 

State  House,  Boston,  the  hub  of 
the  solar  system,  172. 

"Statoo  of  deceased  infant," 
150. 

Stillicidium,  sentimental,  108. 

Stone,  flat,  turning  over  of,  153. 

Stranger,  who  came  with  young 
fellow  called  John,  172,  422. 

"  Strap  !  "  my  man  John's  story, 
146. 

Strasburg  Cathedral,  rocking  of 
its  spire,  393. 

Striking  in  of  thoughts  and  feel 
ings,  184. 

Stuart,  his  two  portraits,  29. 

Sullivan,  John,  29. 

Summer  residence,  choice  of,  366. 

Sumner,  2. 

Sun  and  Shadow,  56. 

Sunday  mornings,  how  the  Au 
thor  shows  his  respect  for,  242. 

Swans,  taking  his  ducks  for,  377. 

Swift,  property  restored  to,  201. 

Swords,  Roman  and  American, 
26. 

Sylva  Novanglica,  327. 

Syntax,  Dr.,  320. 

TALENT,  a  little,  makes  people 
jealous,  4. 

Talkers,  real,  196. 

Talking  like  playing  at  a  mark 
with  an  engine,  37  ;  one  of  the 
fine  arts,  70. 

Teapot,  literary,  85. 

The  last  Blossom,  224. 

The  old  Man  Dreams,  92. 

The  two  Armies,  312. 

The  Voiceless,  421. 

Theological  students,  we  all  are, 
39. 

Thought  revolves  in  cycles,  98 ; 
if  uttered,  is  a  kind  of  excre 
tion,  271. 

Thoughts  may  be  original,  though 
often  before  uttered,  10  ;  sav 
ing,  36;  shaped  in  conversa 
tion,  37  ;  tell  worst  to  minister 
and  best  to  young  people,  41 ; 
my  best  seem  always  old,  42; 
real,  knock  out  somebody's 
wind,  156. 

Thought-Sprinklers,  37. 

Time  and  space,  367. 


INDEX. 


441 


Tobacco-stain  may  strike  into 
character,  1-40. 

Tobacco-stopper,  lovely  one,  140. 

Towns,  small,  not  more  modest 
than  cities,  173. 

Toy,  Author  carves  a  wonderful, 
at  Marseilles,  249. 

Toys  moved  by  sand,  caution 
from  one,  109. 

Travel,  maxims  relating  to,  384  ; 
recollections  of,  385. 

Tree,  growth  of,  as  shown  by 
rings  of  wood,  393 ;  slice  of  a 
hemlock,  394  ;  its  growth  com 
pared  to  human  lives,  395. 

Trees,  great,  318  ;  mother-idea  in 
each  kind  of,  321  ;  afraid  of 
measuring-tape,  323  ;  Mr.  Em 
erson's  report  on,  324 ;  of 
America,  our  friend's  interest 
ing  work  on,  327. 

Tree-wives,  318. 

Triads,  writing  in,  115. 

Trois  Freres,  dinners  at  the,  105. 

Trotting,  democratic  and  favor 
able  to  many  virtues,  50 ; 
matches  not  races,  50. 

Truth,  primary  relations  with,  19. 

Truths  and  lies  compared  to 
cubes  and  spheres,  160. 

Tupper,  22,  428. 

Tupperian  wisdom,  374. 

Tutor,  my  late  Latin,  his  verses, 
3G3. 

Tyburn,  45. 

UNLOVED,  the,  420. 

VENEERING  in  conversation,  197. 

Verse,  proper  medium  for  reveal 
ing  our  secrets,  82. 

Verses,  Album,  21  ;  abstinence 
from  writing,  the  mark  of  a 
poet,  279. 

Verse-writers,  their  peculiarities, 
402. 

Violins,  soaked  in  music,  141  ; 
take  a  century  to  dry,  143. 

Virtues,  negative,  362. 

Visitors,  getting  rid  of,  when 
their  visit  is  over,  23. 

Voice,  the  Teutonic  maiden's, 
298 ;  the  German  woman's, 
299 ;  the  little  child's  in  the 
hospital,  300. 

Voices,  certain  female,  296  ;  fear 
fully  sweet  ones,  297  ;  hard  and 
sharp,  297  ;  people  do  not  know 


their  own,  302;  sweet,  must 
belong  to  good  spirits,  301. 

Voleur,  brand  of,  on  galley 
rogues,  145. 

Volume,  man  of  one,  197 

WALKING  arm  against  arm,  25 ; 
laws  of,  97  ;  the  Professor 
sanctions,  229  ;  riding  and  row 
ing  compared  with,  232. 

Wasp,  sloop  of  war,  285. 

Watch-paper,  the  old  gentle 
man's,  292. 

Water,  the  white-pine  pail  of, 
277. 

Wedding,  the,  431. 

Wedding-presents,  the,  428. 

Wellington,  gentle  in  his  old  age, 
111. 

What  we  all  think,  202. 

Will,  compared  to  a  drop  of  water 
in  a  crystal,  117. 

Willows  in  Maine,  398. 

Wine  of  ancients,  90. 

Wit  takes  imperfect  views  of 
things,  67. 

Woman,  an  excellent  instrument 
for  a  nerve-player,  178  ;  to  love 
a,  must  see  her  through  a  pin- 
hole,  307 ;  must  be  true  as 
death,  373 ;  love-capacity  in, 
373 ;  pride  in,  373  ;  marks  of 
low  and  bad  blood  in,  374  ;  why 
she  should  not  say  too  much, 
374. 

Women,  young,  advice  to,  66; 
first  to  detect  a  poet,  253 ;  in 
spire  poets,  253 ;  their  praise 
the  poet's  reward,  253  ;  who 
have  weighed  all  that  life  can 
offer,  281 ;  all  men  love  all,  305  ; 
all,  love  all  men  306 ;  pictures 
of,  307. 

Woodbridge,  Benjamin,  his 
grave,  332,  333. 

World,  old  and  new,  comparison 
of  their  types  of  organization, 
328. 

Writing  with  feet  in  hot  water, 
9  ;  like  shooting  with  a  rifle, 
37. 

YES  ?  in  conversation,  25. 

Yoricks,  28. 

Young  Fellow  called  John,  73,  88, 
99,  107,  138,  154,  242,  258,  267, 
268,  287,  303,  319,  347,  355,  362, 
423,  429. 


442 


INDEX. 


Young  Lady  come  to  be  finished 
off,  13. 

Youth,  flakes  off  like  button- 
wood  bark,  212  ;  American,  not 
perfect  type  of  physical  human 


ity ;    237  ;  and  age,  what  Au 
thor  means  by,  276. 

ZIMMEHMANN'S  Treatise  on  Soli* 
tude,  8. 


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